On My Own
by Zaney HacknSlash
Summary: Sawyer is the Oceanic seventh; when he makes a mysterious visit to LA he finds Jack a wreck and Kate heart-broken. Gotta' give Northern Wolf credit for the idea. Jack/Sawyer FRIENDSHIP; Skate, some Jate. Role reversal; plot twist R&R please!
1. Simple Twist of Fate

On My Own

Simple Twist of Fate

…_he felt a spark tingle to his bones_

'_Twas then he felt alone_

And wished that he'd gone straight

_And watched out for a simple twist of fate_

_-- Bob Dylan_

He could smell the smoke and the iron of the city surrounding him in a thick, invisible cloud of scents and poisons. He hadn't remembered LA smelling this bad. It almost seemed to burn his lungs. Sawyer squinted into the sun and then slipped his sunglasses down over his eyes—it was harder for people to beg money off you if you didn't make eye contact with them.

The synthetic world around him seemed strange and foreign; after being on the island for four months, constantly in the sun and the warmth, with nothing but fresh air and the fragrance of salt water, being in a large city like LA was intimidating. The towering buildings and the unfamiliar faces made him want to cringe away.

He turned the collar of his jacket up and set his jaw firmly, trying to look unapproachable.

It had been almost three years since rescue had come. Three years back in the real world. Oceanic had given the survivors a gold pass; a passport that would allow them to fly anywhere, at any time, for free. Sawyer used it to move around the states, but he didn't dare fly across the ocean ever again. There was always that chance, eating at the back of his mind…

Every now and then though, he'd start to pine for those white sands and the flaming sunrise, for the fresh smell of the air after a heavy rain. It was like some part of him wanted to go back to the island, even when he was denying that. He ignored that part, pretended that he was happy to be rescued. But…

His whole life had been changed by that experience. He didn't con women at all any more. He'd tried it once or twice after getting back, but he hadn't been able to go through with it either time. Now whenever he was in bed with a woman, looking in her eyes, telling her that he loved her, it felt…wrong. Like he was cheating on someone. And he couldn't stop thinking about Kate.

He didn't know where Kate had gone, but he figured she was on the run or in jail or something. He hadn't seen her in over two years.

Last he'd known, she was trying to live a respectable life in California, with Aaron. Maybe he'd run into her while he was here; hopefully she wasn't living with Jack who, as far as he knew, lived in LA as well.

Sawyer started walking across a bridge, making sure to stay close to the rails so that a car wouldn't hit him. The water below looked choppy and dark. Not at all like the bright, aqua-green water of the island. This stuff looked totally polluted.

It was rush hour and the traffic was heavy. He would have called a cab, if he had any idea where he was going, but then, he didn't figure it would be easy to get one at this time of day either. He was going to have to walk.

Not that he even really knew where he was going. He didn't even know where he was, just some bridge in LA. He'd just arrived at LAX an hour ago and had been walking ever since. All he had was a heavy, blue travel bag that was sort of tattered and dirty, which he clutched closer now. It was all he needed.

Sawyer noticed a man walking toward him. He seemed to be in a hurry, and he jostled the con artist with his shoulder as he went by.

"Hey!" Sawyer snapped, "Watch where you're going!"

He turned around to watch as the other man kept going, was startled when he suddenly stopped and hoisted himself up onto the railing.

"Wait a minute! Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Sawyer ran back after him.

The man was standing tediously on the railing, holding onto a support beam, ready to jump at any second, and for a moment Sawyer felt like he was on the island again: no one else was around, the cars that passed and the people driving them did nothing to help. It was just him. He was needed. For the first time in a whole year someone needed him to do something. Not even thinking about it really, he grabbed the man by the hem of the shirt and yanked with all his might, dragging the crazy ass down to the ground.

They both fell. Sawyer felt his shoulder bruise when he hit, and the kamikaze diver landed on him, the back of his head smacking the con artist right in the chin.

The blow stunned him for a second, and then he shoved the guy off, practically screaming, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

A little slowly, the man rolled to his knees and started to climb to his feet, mumbling as he did so, "S-sorry…I just…suddenly felt like…" Instead of finishing, he offered his hand to help Sawyer out, but hesitated. He gasped.

"Sawyer?"

Sawyer blinked and stared up at him. Something about the man was familiar. The eyes and the nose and the shape of the head reminded him of someone…but his face was heavily bearded. And something about the look in his eyes was all wrong. Not noble like he had remembered it, but sad and tormented.

Even as he spoke he couldn't believe it. He was sure he had the wrong man. "Jack?"

"…Hey…"

Sawyer scrambled to his feet, pulling his sunglasses off as he did so to get a better look. It couldn't be. This was all wrong. It was…impossible. Jack looked like a total bum: his clothes were dirty, his beard was ill cared for, like he had totally forgotten about it, his eyes were distant, like he was doped up on morphine or something. He reeked of alcohol. It was a ghost of the man he had known on the island. Nothing at all like the brave, charismatic doctor who'd saved people for a hobby. Nothing at all like the friend he'd grown to trust and even care about.

"Jesus, Doc! What the hell happened ta' you?"

Jack smiled this slow, stupid grin. It was exactly like his old smile, only there was something different—vague and grief-stricken. The kind of smile that made Sawyer want to cry. The smile of a man who was at the end of his frayed, tattered rope. "Hey. Long time no see."

Sawyer didn't even attempt to smile back, "Jack," he looked him up and down, struggling to find the words he needed to express the horrible feeling he had in the pit of his stomach, "Jack…what the…how did ya'…"

The doctor just looked at him, not speaking. It was like he knew, and didn't understand at the same time.

Finally he said, "So, what're _you_ doing in LA, Alabama boy?"

The con artist still couldn't quite get a handle on his own thoughts. His mind wanted to go four different directions at once. "What? Oh. Nothin'. I…I'm on business… What the hell are _you_ doin' out here on this bridge?"

"I'm just," Jack shrugged, "goin' for my evening jog."

Skeptically, Sawyer looked him over, "Just now…ya' were tryin' ta' jump…weren't ya'?"

Jack totally ignored him, "You seen anyone else lately?" He sounded almost hopeful.

"No. Not since March."

The doctor nodded. Then he said quietly, "It's good to see you, Sawyer."

Sawyer _wanted _to say 'yeah, you too,' but the truth was it _wasn't_ good to see Jack. It was awful seeing Jack like this. It was like the world was falling apart under his feet. He would have much rather never seen Jack again then run into this grungy, Jackish shadow. So he just said, "Yeah…" then added, "What 'bout you, Doc? Ya' seen anybody?" He didn't mention Kate specifically, even if that's who he was thinking of.

"Saw Hurley a while ago. Few months."

The con artist felt like asking 'what did _he_ think of this?' but decided not to. And now he wasn't sure what to do. He had things to do here in LA. Personal things. And he was hoping to look up Kate at some point during his visit, see how she was doing, but he didn't think he could very well walk away and just leave Jack here like this. He might try to jump again. And if no one had stopped to help the first time then why would anyone stop this time? He tried to think of an excuse, a place they could go together, but nothing presented itself, other than a bar. And at the moment that was totally out of the question. Even though, he really _could_ use a drink right now.

Jack found the excuse for him, "So, how 'bout it? Wanna' get a drink? Do some catchin' up…the whole 'friendship' thing?"

Sawyer could barely look at him as he muttered, "Ya' really think that's a good idea right now?"

"Sure. Why not?" Jack shrugged.

"_I _don't think it's a good idea, Chief." Jack already seemed wasted on something. Booze. Drugs. Maybe both.

"C'mon," Jack pleaded. He really sounded like he was begging. "I'll buy."

"Ya' got money, Jack?" That was hard to believe.

The doctor snorted, "I'ma' _doctor_, Sawyer…trust me, I got money."

Sawyer groped for another excuse, "What, we gonna' run ta' the bar?"

"My car's parked on the other side of the bridge. Now 'less you got any more good reasons not to…"

The con artist barely bit back a frown and an insult, forced them to become a smirk instead, nodded. "Yeah, alright. Fine."

Jack's face lit up like a kid's on Christmas and he pounded Sawyer's back drunkenly, "All right. Let's go."

Uneasy, Sawyer followed him. Jack wasn't trashed yet: he was walking normally and his words weren't slurred too bad. But that was sure to change after an hour or two at a bar. He'd have to think of a way to convince the doc to go home. Then he could get on with his own businees.

They walked along the bridge, silently. Every now and then Jack would look at him, like he wanted to convince himself Sawyer was really there, but he didn't say anything. After a while, they reached a brown and tan Bronco, pulled onto the side of the road. Sawyer hesitated as Jack clambered in, wondering if he should offer to drive.

"What're you waiting for? Get in."

Trying to suppress his worries, Sawyer went around to the passenger's side and got in, hefting his bag with him.

"You can just toss that in the back."

Sawyer glanced at Jack, then stuffed the bag down under his feet. "I'll just keep it here."

Jack shrugged and turned the key.

The car growled as it started, and then lurched to a start.

"Ya' said ya' saw Hurley a while ago." Sawyer said, trying to figure out what it was that had sent Jack over the edge.

"I did."

"Where?"

"Santa Rosa Institute of Mental Health."

Sawyer stared at him, waiting to see if that was supposed to be a joke. From Jack's expression he could see that the doctor was serious.

"Son of a bitch! What's he doin' there?"

"Dunno'."

"Well what did he do?"

Jack shrugged, "He didn't tell me. But…he seemed pretty normal."

"Looks like ev'rybody's goin' ta' hell." Sawyer muttered. Jack falling apart, not even shaving, Hurley in the mad house. Hopefully Kate was okay.

They drove the next fifteen minutes in silence, and then Jack pulled into a smallish bar squeezed between an Italian restaurant and a Laundromat.

"This looks promisin'." Sawyer muttered.

"It's a great place," Jack reassured, locking his car up, "I come here to drink all the time." He watched Sawyer slip his travel bag onto his shoulder, "You can just leave that out here. Pretty sure no one will take it."

"Think I'll just keep it with me."

Jack gave him an odd look but didn't say anything, then started walking for the door.

Sawyer followed after him, glancing at the shady characters that were hovering outside, smoking what smelled like weed. "Ya' drink a lot these days, Doc?"

The doctor didn't answer. He shoved the door open, nearly hitting a man on the other side. The man growled and cussed at them, but Jack sauntered forward like he didn't notice, ignoring everyone around him. Sawyer hurried to keep up.

Jack sank heavily onto a stool at the bar and immediately ordered his 'usual'. "This's my friend Sawyer—he'll have what I'm havin'."

"We're friends now, Doc?" Sawyer watched the barkeeper pour two glasses of whiskey on the rocks. He sipped it carefully. He wasn't here to get on a bender—besides, if Jack was going to get plastered he'd need to take him home. Or at least be able to call him a taxi.

The doctor gave him a weird look, downed a swallow of his booze, "Course we are." He looked at the barkeeper, "Just leave it, Miguel."

The barkeeper set his narrow gaze on Sawyer, then shrugged and went about tending to his other customers.

Sawyer looked around: the bar was full of trashy-looking people. Drunks and lowlifes. People like himself. It was no place for a doctor. "Ya' said ya' drink here a lot, Jack?"

Jack shrugged, taking another swallow and re-filling his glass, "It's a regular haunt, I guess."

He nodded. "What've ya' been up to lately, Doc?" He looked at him carefully, listening for any sort of indication to what could have caused this break down.

"The usual. Savin' people. Fixin' things. You know…"

"It's all right for ya' ta' go ta' work drunk?"

Jack laughed shortly.

"I'm serious, Jack."

For a moment the doctor wouldn't look at him, but when he did his eyes were hard, "Well what about _you_, Sawyer? _Business?_ What're you _really_ here for?"

Sawyer took a quick drink, "Seen Freckles lately?"

The doctor snorted, "Not for a few months."

"Few months?"

"She kicked me out."

The con artist's mouth went dry, "You guys've been _livin'_ together?"

Jack looked at him knowingly. "Hey, buddy, you had your chance."

Sawyer didn't answer.

"I mean, you told her no. Why? If ya' love her _soo_ much why'd you tell her no?"

"I ain't the settlin' down type."

"Ah. I get it." Jack slammed a little more whiskey and poured more in his glass, "It's 'cause of Aaron, huh?"

"It ain't got nothin' ta' do with the kid, Doc."

"But that's part of settlin' down, huh? Raisin' a kid?"

"I made a mistake." Sawyer murmured.

Jack nodded. "Was it just…you don't think you're good enough to be a dad?"

Sawyer glared up at him, "What the hell's that s'posed ta' mean, Jack?"

"Nothin'." More whiskey. "Just, you've never thought too much of yourself, right? Maybe y' thought…y' weren't good enough…to raise him…"

"Shut up, Doc." He took a gulp from his own glass, welcoming the familiar burn as it went down. "I told ya' it ain't got nothin' ta' do with the kid."

"Guess I'm not one t' talk…she kicked me out…said she didn't want an alcoholic around her son…"

Sawyer studied him, "You're an alcoholic, Doc?"  
"I am…now…"

For a few minutes they sat there in silence, and Sawyer watched Jack down three more glasses of whiskey. He looked truly pathetic, drinking his troubles away, and something about him reminded Sawyer of Jack's father. He'd shared a bottle like this with Christian, back in Australia. Before the crash. Before Christian had died. Too bad he hadn't known then what he knew now.

Sawyer took a hit of whiskey, "What's this about, Jack'O?"

"What's what 'bout?" He looked at Sawyer with bleary but guarded eyes.

"All this," Sawyer waved a hand to indicate Jack as a whole, "the beard, the drinkin'…all of it."

"Just…y' know…just," Jack took a quick swallow, a pained look crossing his face, "it's been tough…lyin' an' ev'rything…"

"Right." Sawyer didn't believe that was the real answer. He moved a little closer, looking intensely into Jack's eyes, "Jack," he said softly, "what were ya' doin' tonight? On the bridge?"

Jack didn't answer.

"Ya'…were gonna' jump…huh?"

The doctor lowered his head.

Out of instinct, Sawyer put a hand on his shoulder, "Why?"

He watched Jack take another, longer swig of whiskey before refilling his glass. His hands were shaking really bad as he did so and he sloshed some of the alcohol on the bar. Without being asked, he refilled Sawyer's as well. "I…I think we made a mistake, Soy."

Ignoring the weird nick name, Sawyer prodded, "What the hell ya' talkin' 'bout, Doc? What kinda' mistake?"

"Leavin' th' island…" Jack looked at Sawyer sadly, "I don' think we were s'posed t' leave…"

The words turned Sawyer's blood to ice, and at the same time, they made him angry. He didn't want to face the truth in those words. "Why the hell would ya' think that? Ya' think we were supposed ta' stay there for the rest of our lives? After the shit we went through ta' get off, after _you_ made all those promises and put us all in danger just ta' get up to that radio tower? _Now_ ya' think we made a mistake?" He could barely help yelling. He just wanted to hit Jack right in the face.

Jack looked at him fiercely, "I jus' can't remember wha' it was I wanted t' get back t' so bad…can _you?_ Here I am. I don' got _anythin'_ worth livin' for." Then he shouted, "…At least…on that island I was a hero! I was needed! People looked up t' me! I don' have _anythin' _now! Not even Kate!"

Sawyer felt indignant that Jack was daring to yell at him. People around them were starting to stare, but he ignored them, "Well, excuse me, Fearless Leader—while we were there ya' weren't too hot on the idea, were ya'?"

"It was different then! It was…ah, fuck, _you_ wouldn't understand, Sawyer! A jerk like _you_ could never get it. I _cared_ 'bout those people!"

"Oh, and _I_ didn't?"

"Never acted like you did!"

Sawyer snarled, "Just 'cause I wasn't out runnin' around all the time, rubbin' Neosporin on _everythin_' don't mean I _didn't_ care!"

"Please. Listen t' yersel', Soy…ya' were always stealin' from the group…an' lyin'…takin', not givin'…we all woulda' been better off…if _you_ had just died in th' crash."

The words bit deep into him, clamping down with iron jaws and not letting go. It was like everything he had ever thought of himself had just come to life and was sitting next to him, looking at him through Jack's drink-hardened eyes. He knew Jack was just drunk and didn't really mean it-he wanted to think that anyway-but he couldn't just let the words slide off. They were too real.

"Thanks for the drink, Doc," He snapped, slamming his whiskey down and grabbing his bag. Jack could take himself home. Bitch to someone else. There was no reason why Sawyer should sit here and take shit from him. He started to get up, backed right into a big guy who happened to be stumbling by at the same time he was rising from the stool.

The man blinked at him stupidly, "Hey, hot shot…waz say y' watch…w'er yer goin'?" He shoved Sawyer back a little.

Sawyer slammed back against the bar, his already flaming anger turning quickly into rage, and he pushed the man back, "I ain't the one staggerin' through the bar so drunk I can't tell the bottle from my own dick!"

The drunk grabbed Sawyer by the collar, swinging him around, away from the bar, "Y' lookin' t' fight, Hombre?"

Sawyer was about to retort when Jack spoke up, "Get off 'im."

The man glared at the doctor. "Wha' was that?"

Jack got up a little slowly, setting his glass down so that it sloshed, articulating his words carefully, "I said, get offa' him."  
"Stay outta' this, Doc." Sawyer snapped.

"I'd list'n t' yer friend if I was you…"

But Jack wasn't backing down: he had the confidence and poise of a truly drunk man, and his eyes were lit with dull cockiness, "I'd get offa' 'im if I were _you_. Or else…I'm gonna'_ make_ y'."

Sawyer rolled his eyes a little. It was the most pathetic threat he'd ever heard. On top of that, from the way Jack was swaying, he doubted he could hit the wall.

The man scoffed, "Really? Y' an' wha' army?"

"Well boys," Sawyer sighed, "ya'll are both just fulla' bright comments t'night."

Angrily, the man tossed him back into Jack, and they both stumbled, tripping over a stool and knocking glasses and bottles off the bar. Sawyer was sober so he kept his balance, but Jack was drunk enough to fall on the floor.

The con artist pulled him up, "Ya' all right, Doc?"

Jack pushed past him, his gaze drunk and menacing.

Sawyer grabbed his arm, "Just forget it, Jack. This asshole ain't worth it."

But the doctor shrugged him off and stepped up to the man, who was grinning like an ape, "I tried t' warn ya'…" He took a swing at the man, but totally missed, managed to knock the man's mug of beer out of his hand. The glass crunched on the floor and the golden liquid soaked the man's boots.

"Y' sonnuva' bitch!" The drunk reeled back, arm packed with a punch that would probably put Jack's lights out.

"Doc!" Sawyer shoved Jack out of the way just in time, and the fist caught him in the eye instead.

He hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

Sawyer checked the street sign and turned the corner. His right eye was throbbing, his head ached and he had bruises on his arms, chest and stomach. In the passenger's seat, Jack was singing along with the Steve Miller band and guzzling from a bottle he'd been keeping under the back seat, drunker than ever.

After the man had hit him, Sawyer had totally lost his temper. He'd jumped up and kicked the guy's drunk ass easily enough, but then he'd been confronted by the man's two friends: just as big and just as drunk. Because he was sober, Sawyer had won, but not without getting knocked around a little bit first. Then he'd dragged Jack out to the car and told him he was driving him home.

Jack had objected for a little while, saying he was fine to drive, but eventually he'd given in and climbed into the passenger's side, began giving somewhat cloudy directions to his house. They'd gotten turned around a few times, and Sawyer had gotten pretty frustrated with the doctor, but now they were going the right way. Or at least, that's what Jack said.

Sawyer was sure they were hopelessly lost. And the music was starting to get to him.

He reached over to turn it down.

Jack gave him a questioning look, "Wassamatta'? Y' din't lis'en t' Steve Miller when y' were a kid?"

"Not much." Sawyer glanced at him, then hurried to check the next crossroad, "This the right way, Jack?"

"Wha' 'bout Skynard?"

"Jack. Is this the right way?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. This's it…jus' few more blocks. Didja' lis'en t' Lyn'rd Skyn'rd, Soy?"

Sawyer gave him a look, not sure what he was talking about. "What?"

"Y' know." Jack broke into a grin, "Tha' song…" he started to sing again, "Swee' home Al-a-bama…where th' skies are so blue…swee' home Al-abama…oh, I'm comin' home t' you…"

The con artist drew a deep breath. He wasn't sure how much more of Jack's song-slaughtering he could take. "No." He snapped. "Not a Skynard fan, Doc. Now pay attention, dammit. We're gonna' miss your damn house."

"Jus'a' few more blocks." Jack repeated. At least his mood had improved. Not like the sad, sorry Doc on the bridge, seconds away from suicide.

For a few more minutes he went on singing Sweet Home Alabama, and then he suddenly pointed to a driveway they were already in the process of passing, "There. Tha's m' house."

Cursing, Sawyer whipped the steering wheel around and pulling into the driveway, nearly running over the trashcan as he did so.

Before he could even straighten the parking job, Jack was out of the car, staggering toward his front door, still singing, and tipping his bottle so that he was dangerously close to losing all of the Jack Daniels he was drinking.

With a sigh, Sawyer turned the car off and put the emergency brake on, out of habit. Then he sat for a few moments, watching Jack fumble with his house key. He thought about just getting out and walking away—let Jack figure out his own problems. But he didn't know where he was going, and at least if he went in he could use the doc's phone to call a taxi. It was only eight o'clock, but Sawyer just wanted to call a cab and tell the driver to take him to the nearest motel.

Thinking he heard a car door, Sawyer glanced around, but there was nothing. He wiped a little sweat off his forehead and grabbed the strap of his travel bag.

Finally, he got out and followed Jack inside.

The doc's house was big and clean, like a museum, with sparkling, glass windows and polished coffee tables. The couches were leather. The white carpet was fluffy. And everything was super-sized. Sawyer had been in big houses like this before, since most of the people he had conned over the course of his life had been well-to-do, but he still felt uncomfortable and out of place in his dirty, denim jacket and crumpled t-shirt. He looked around for a place to set his luggage, but was afraid that if he did it would leave dirt on the otherwise spotless floor.

Jack was heading for the kitchen, polishing off his booze bottle as he went, tottering unstably, "I'm gon' have a drink. Y' wan' one, Soy?"

Sawyer shook his head in disbelief, "Ain't ya' had enough t'night, Jack?"

"If y' don' wan' one, jus' say so." Jack snorted, getting out a tumbler glass and a bottle of scotch. The whole kitchen was cluttered with empty bottles of alcohol, so the doc hadn't been joking about being an alcoholic.

"What, gettin' us into a bar fight wasn't enough for ya'?"

Jack took a long slug of scotch before turning and looking at him, "G'head an' make yersel' comfort'ble, Soy."

Sawyer started to tell him to quit calling that before he smashed the scotch bottle over his head, but bit the words back and wandered aimlessly for a moment before sitting down at Jack's mini-bar. He didn't know how to act around Jack. Not when he was like this. He'd seen the doc drunk before, but this was something different. If it had just been a casual, Friday night happy-hour thing he would have joined him. But watching Jack slam drink after drink on a Wednesday evening made him nervous. He couldn't even crack a joke when his friend-a man who'd always been serious and respected and responsible-was drunk off his ass like this.

Finally he sighed, "Hey, Jack…I think there's somethin' I better tell ya'…'bout me bein' here in LA-"

Jack frowned at him, then leaned over close to Sawyer's face, tripping on a chair leg and nearly falling.

"What?" Sawyer demanded.

"Yer eye…tha' guy hit y' pretty hard…"

Tentatively, Sawyer touched his throbbing eye, could feel that a bruise was forming around the edges of the socket. "Yeah. Glad ya' noticed that." He muttered.

"I'll get y' some ice." Jack decided, wandering over to his freezer.

Groaning inwardly, Sawyer rubbed his head. If Jack was going to go into doctor mode maybe he'd just leave. The last thing he needed was for a drunk spinal surgeon to start messing with his bar fight injuries.

But Jack just brought back a pack of ice and handed it to Sawyer, "There y' go, man." He patted him on the shoulder and then slumped into a nearby chair, taking a swig of scotch as he did so.

Just to keep Jack off his back, Sawyer pressed the ice onto his eye, then sighed.

Jack laughed suddenly, "Still gotta' bail y' outta' fist fights, huh?"

"Oh, _you_ bailed me out?" Sawyer glared at him irritably.

"Yer th' one tha' got clobbered."

"Right. Guess I owe ya' a thank-you then."

Jack was quiet for a minute, stirring his drink around a little, "Hey, so…y' gotta' place t' crash while yer here?"

The inward groan became audible as Sawyer recognized where this was going. "I was gonna' rent a room."

Nodding, Jack studied the floor, deep in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, "Y' know…if y' din't wanna' spend th' money…y' coul' crash here…I gotta' extra room."

Sawyer shook his head, "Thanks, Doc, but…naw. It's alright. I'll just leave."

"'S'not like yer imposin' or an'thin'…"

"I gotta' go." He slid off the stool and shouldered his bag again. "Thanks for…ev'rything." He couldn't actually think of anything to thank Jack for, but that seemed good enough.

Jack watched him heading for the door, looking sort of sad. "Right. Sure. Wha'dya' gotta' go rushin' off for? Haven't seen y' in like, a year."

"What, didja' miss me or somethin'?" Sawyer grinned.

"I did…" Jack said quietly, his melancholy tone stopping Sawyer in his tracks. "Never thought I woulda', considerin' wha' a bastard y' could be…but I really did…sorta' missed your smart-ass comments…an' fightin' with ya' over stuff…medicine, guns…y'know? Kept thinkin' 'bout that day…when we played poker…jus' y' an' me…" he looked up at Sawyer sincerely, "I hada' lotta' fun that day."

The confession made Sawyer hesitate. He had thought that he'd be the last person Jack would ever think about or miss. He'd admittedly missed Jack, a little, but that was just because he was friendless and didn't have a regular job or even any real friends. Everyone he had ever cared about in his whole pathetic life had been on that island. It was a depressing thing to realize, but he really didn't have anything in the real world: no family or friends to come home to. His family-what little he had-had disowned him a long time ago, and he'd never had friends. Just business partners and victims.

"Ya' only had fun 'cause ya' kicked my insides out." He snorted at last.

"Yeah," Jack laughed, "prol'ly."

"Ya' really miss that goddamn island, don't ya'?"

"A lot."

"Why? What's so different about savin' people here? You're still a doctor, ain't ya'? Ya' got plenty ta' fix."

"I'm sicka' fixin' shit." Jack mumbled. "There wasn't so much t' fix on th' island…jus' survivin'… When we were there…I hated bein' th' leader…hated th' respons'bility an' th' pressure…but…ev'ryone looked up t' me…ev'ryone respected me…I was more than jus' their doctor…it was simpler, Soy…_better._"

Sawyer studied the doctor for a while. He looked so pathetic sitting there, with just his scotch, and that hideous beard. He felt guilty about leaving him here to drink all by himself. The rate he was going, he'd probably pass out at the table and not even make it to bed. The scotch was already a fourth of the way gone.

"'M glad y' showed up t'night, Sawyer…it was good t' see y'. I'd prol'ly be dead now if y' hadn't come along…I get why y' wanna' leave: I'ma' mess…but I haven't seen y' in a loong time, huh?" He looked up at him at last, "Hey, 'm I still…th' only friend y' got?"

He doubted Jack had the presence of mind to understand what he was saying, but that last question was enough. More irritated with himself than with Jack, Sawyer dropped his bag, relieved to let go of its weight, even just momentarily, and kicked it to the side, went to slouch into the chair beside the doctor and poured himself a glass of the scotch, figuring that even if he drank just a little bit it would be better than Jack drinking the whole thing by himself. He took a gulp of it and swished it around in his mouth, then snapped, "Jesus, ya' sentimental idiot, when're ya' ever gonna' forget I said that?"

Laughing, Jack rested his arm on Sawyer's shoulder, "Never, I guess." He tipped his own glass back, "So am I?"

Sawyer thought about Hurley and Kate and the rest of the survivors, and he knew that it wasn't true, not any more. It had been true once. Or he had thought that it was. But now it wasn't. Still, he knew what Jack wanted to hear, so he just nodded, "'Fraid so, Doc."

And they drank.


	2. Since You Been Gone

2. Since You Been Gone

You had your chance you blew it

_Out of sight, out of mind_

_Shut your mouth, I just can't take it_

_Again and again, and again, and again and again._

_--Kelly Clarkson_

In the morning, Sawyer splashed cold water on his face and wandered downstairs to the kitchen. It was pretty early, and golden, bright sunlight was streaming through the windows, making the house look even bigger and even cleaner. It hurt his eyes and made his headache worse.

He and Jack had stayed up to two in the morning, drinking and playing poker, telling stories and reliving old memories; Sawyer had gotten pretty drunk himself, but not nearly as bad as Jack. It was worth it though. At least the doc hadn't passed out on the floor of his kitchen. He'd managed to convince Jack to go the hell to bed, eventually, and had toyed with the idea of going to a motel, but then he'd figured it was better to stay here, so he'd dragged his bag upstairs to the extra room and fallen asleep on the bed there.

He'd had some weird dream about Kate and being back on the island, but he couldn't remember the details of it. But seeing her smiling face, even in a dream, made him want to see her even worse. He stared out the window, watching and thinking about her so hard it hurt, deep in his chest. Soon he'd have to do what he'd come here for. And then he'd have to leave again. But he wanted to see Kate first. Jack probably had her address. Maybe he could find it before the doctor got up.

But first he raided the fridge, drinking some coffee and eating some leftover pizza Jack had. He didn't figure Jack would care very much: alcoholics didn't usually eat a lot.

The doctor came down about thirty minutes later, dressed in a business suit and rubbing his head. Sawyer didn't envy him. If he thought _he_ had a headache he was sure Jack's was a million times worse.

"Hey," Jack looked at him with bloodshot eyes and poured himself a mug of coffee, "You stuck around, huh?"

"It was cheaper."

The doctor nodded. "Well, I've gotta' go to work…" He rubbed his head again. "But uh, if you want to hang out here for a while that's fine."

Sawyer stared at Jack's beard. "You're goin' ta' work like _that_, Attila? With that _thing_ growin' outta' your face?"

Jack ran his hand through his nasty beard, "Yeah…"

"Ain't ya' even gonna' trim it?"

"No time. I'm supposed to be there in fifteen minutes. I'm running a little behind…"

Reflectively, he touched his own clean-shaven face. "Well alrighty, I'm just sayin', ya' look like an orthodox Jew."

"Yeah, thanks, Sawyer." Jack sounded agitated.

"Awe, what happened ta' 'Soy'?" Sawyer grinned, but that made his head hurt so he stopped.

"What?"

"Last night. Ya' kept callin' me that. Got pretty damn annoyin'."

Jack snorted a laugh, "You give everyone else a nick name? Aren't we allowed to give _you_ one?"

Sawyer shrugged.

"What else did I say?"

"Oh, not a lot, Boss. Let's see…just that I never contributed when we were on the damn island and I shoulda' died in the crash."

A sort of funny, guilty look got snagged on Jack's face.

It made Sawyer feel sorry for bringing it up, so he looked away. "Don't worry 'bout it, Jack. I know… Ya' were pretty drunk."

Jack didn't look at him. He toyed with one of the playing cards. The whole deck was still out, along with the pile of money they'd used for a pot. "Who won?"

"Me."

"Did not."

"Well, ya' were pretty toasted…"

Jack looked at him again, and Sawyer was half-afraid that disgusting beard was going to come to life and eat the doctor's face. He started to say something, but then cut off and looked at his watch. Headed toward the front door, "I've gotta' leave. So…help yourself to anything in the fridge…and uh, if you're gonna' leave…gime' a call to say goodbye, I guess." He lingered a moment to scrawl a phone number on a pad of paper that was sitting on the coffee table.

"Right. Yeah. I'll be here a few more days…"

"If you're staying," Jack gestured to the dirty, blue bag that was settled nearby, "you can just leave that up in the extra room."

"I like ta' have it where I can see it." Sawyer said, taking an indifferent sip of coffee.

"What the hell is in that thing?"

"Nothin' important: just, ya' know how I am 'bout my stuff." Sawyer smirked at him.

The statement seemed to bother Jack. No doubt it took him back in time. He studied the bag for a moment before looking back at the con man, "What're you in town for? You started to tell me, but..."

"Nothin'. Just figured I'd use the pass they gave us an fly out…" he stopped, looking for a way to avoid telling Jack the truth, glanced at the clock on the stove "ya' gotta' leave."

Jack stared at him hard for a moment, then nodded. "See ya' later…" He gave an awkward wave and pushed the door open. Stumbled outside.

Sawyer watched him stagger over to his car, "Goin' ta' work hung over…great idea, Doc."

He didn't figure Jack had much choice. Not if he got drunk like that every night.

As soon as the Bronco had pulled out and Sawyer couldn't hear the engine anymore, he started looking for an address book. First he went to the pad Jack had written on, figuring that if the doc had put one number there he might put another. But there was just the one note: Jack's Cell.

Sawyer folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket, looked around the room for any other place the doctor might keep his addresses and numbers. He dug through drawers and went through notebooks, shifted through pile after pile of paper, with no luck. He examined each sticky note that was attached to the fridge, but still had no luck.

After a while he figured it wasn't in the kitchen and went looking for an office of any kind. One room he found wasn't quite an office, but it could have been one. There were maps and atlases scattered on the floor. Grids had been drawn on them, coordinates scribbled out in Jack's handwriting.

"Poor sunnova' bitch really _does_ wanna' go back…" He stepped over the maps, scrutinizing them for a while. He didn't really share the sentiment of wanting to go back, although, he could easily understand why Jack would want to.

He scoured through the room for a little while, careful to put everything back the way it was, and was just about to leave when he noticed a cell phone sitting on the floor.

"Great. Leave a number for a phone ya' ain't carryin'. What is that guy_ takin'_?" There was a heavy suggestion that Jack was on more than just alcohol. The way he'd gotten plastered so quickly, and some of his mannerisms suggested there was some sort of substance involved as well.

Sawyer could worry about that later. And maybe he wouldn't have to: If he could just track down Kate he might be able to get some answers.

Carefully, he picked up the phone and looked at it. Just a standard flip phone. He opened it and scrolled through the contacts. Hurley's number was there, right toward the top. That was sort of promising, so Sawyer scrolled down to the K section and found Kate's number almost right away. K-A.

With a deep breath, he pressed the CALL button. The phone rang and rang. He noticed he was shaking. Her phone kept ringing, and eventually a voicemail came on.

"Dammit." He ended the connection. Sawyer looked at the contacts again; some of them had e-mails and even addresses. He looked at Kate's again, was relieved to see that there was an address under the number. The con artist grabbed a nearby pen and wrote the address down on the paper Jack's number was written on.

Grinning, Sawyer dropped the phone back on the floor, just as he'd found it, then raced downstairs and out the door, remembering to take the bag with him before locking the door.

It took him a while to get over to Kate's house: he had to thumb a few rides and walk the rest of the way, but he made it. It was a pretty up-scale, classy neighborhood too, with trim yards and elderly couples walking their dogs, mother's taking their children to bus stops. A lot of the people stared at him, like he was out of place. But he knew that he was, so he ignored them.

He glanced at the address one last time, then headed for a tall, expensive home near the end of the block. Obviously Kate had put the money she'd gotten from Oceanic to good use. Sawyer's was back in Tallahassee, just sitting in the bank. He spent it some times, but he didn't really like to. He sort of wished the whole plane crash had never happened. Life had been a lot easier before he'd felt obligated to care about people.

The closer he got to the house the more nervous he felt. It had been so long since he'd seen her. She'd been living with Jack for a while. Did she even care about him any more? Had she ever? With a shaking hand, he pressed the doorbell, heard it ring.

For a few moments, there was silence, and he was worried that she wasn't even home. Then a woman's voice called, "Coming."

Footsteps. Then the door swung open.

And there she was.

"Hello?" Kate's mouth dropped open, her eyes got really wide, "Sawyer?"

He grinned back at her: she looked even better than he remembered. Her hair was longer and she was wearing make-up. Her eyes were greener too. Or it seemed that way. Maybe just because his memory of her was a little faded, "Well hey there, Freckles. Been a long time, huh?"

"What are you doing here?"

Sawyer shrugged, "I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by ta' say 'howdy.' That's all right, ain't it?"

"Yeah. Of course it is…just…it's been so long…you haven't called or anything. I was starting to think I'd never see you again."

Sawyer wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just smiled at her for a moment, "Yeah…well…" Then he lingered there, not sure if he should ask to come in or just wait for her to offer.

At last, Kate pushed the door open a little wider, nodding to him, that familiar smile he'd fallen in love with starting to crease her lips. "What are you waiting for? Come in."

Uncertainly, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, looking around. The house was just as big and just as clean as Jack's. He could hear a TV in the living room, and there was a child-sized, plastic ball-bat leaning beside the door. He tried to ignore it, followed Kate down the hall to a living room with an arrangement of brown, leather couches that encircled a coffee table.

"Make yourself at home," Kate said, going into the kitchen so she was out of sight for a few moments, "can I get you anything to drink?"

"No thanks." He stared down at his own hands, saw that they were shaking. He couldn't have lifted a glass without spilling anyway. Why was he so nervous? So he hadn't seen her for a few years. She still looked good. She was still Kate, wasn't she?"

Kate came back with a mug of coffee, sat down on the couch across from him. "Go on, sit down."

Still reluctant, Sawyer set the bag down and then sank down, trying to hide how uncertain he felt. He just stared at her for a minute or two, retracing everything he knew about her, memorizing her face until he knew her by heart. Yes. She was the same Kate: beautiful and smart and strong, and yet she was different somehow, altered by the stress of every day life in the real world. It made him sad to think that he might have contributed to that change.

"I can't believe you're here," She was saying, "after all this time…three years…and you just show up on my doorstep out of nowhere. It's like a dream."

"I tried callin' ahead, but ya' didn't answer…"

"Calling?" She looked mystified, "When?"

"Few hours ago." He ran a hand through his ragged, blonde hair.

"That was you?"

"On Jack's cell phone? Yeah."

"Jack." A distant look came over Kate's face and she looked out the window, "How is he?"

Sawyer felt annoyed that she was worrying about Jack. The doctor was never far from her mind. Sawyer had other things to worry about, but even when he'd made this special trip to see her she was thinking about Jack, "You tell _me_, Kate."

She still didn't look at him, "I haven't seen him for almost three months…it wasn't working out. He's been so…"

"Yeah," He sighed, "I know."

"I tried helping him, but I just…he can't be around Aaron. Not the way he's been acting…I don't think it's safe."

"I think the Doc would sooner cut off one o his own arms than hurt a kid, Freckles."

"I know. But he's not himself…he…"

Sawyer waited expectantly for her to finish.

Kate suddenly looked up, like she was remembering he was there, and took a sip from her mug, "So how have you been, Sawyer? It's been forever since I saw you last."

"Right, well, I meant ta' visit sooner, Freckles…but I just…been busy, y'know?"

"Busy? You?" She laughed a little, "it's hard to picture you busy."

"Is that so?" He growled good-naturedly, "Well, for your information, Missy, I _have_ been busy."

"Are you still conning people?" Her question was lined with worry and even some disapproval. Obviously she thought that since she had stopped running he should stop conning.

Sawyer shook his head, "No Ma'am."

That brought a grin from her lips. "That's good to here."

"An' I see you're not runnin' any more."

"No. Well," she tucked some hair behind her ear, "I can't…you know the verdict."

He just nodded.

Kate cleared her throat probably wanting to move away from the topic, "So, where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"Well, I wish you would have been more here than there. I really missed you."

"I missed you too, Freckles."

"When we were on the island…I saw you every day. I guess I wasn't ready for what it would be like to lose that."

"Me neither."

Kate sat back and sighed. For a few minutes they sat there in silence. "What are you doing here, Sawyer?"

Sawyer nearly choked on the words, "I just…had ta' see ya'."

Her eyes were sort of hard as she replied, "Oh, so after three years you want to see me?"

So she was going to address the stain on the rug after all. He had sort of hoped she wouldn't. But then…it hadn't been very likely.

"Look, Kate, it wasn't like that."

"What _was_ it like then?"

"It's just that," he stood up suddenly and paced over to the window, unable to look at her, "ya' were all ready ta' settle down, buy a house, raise the kid…I ain't good at that briefcase an' tie stuff."

"You said you wanted to be with me." It sounded like it could have been an accusation a few years ago, but now, when they hadn't seen each other for so long, it was watered down and tired.

"I did-I _do_, Kate. I _do_ wanna' be with ya'," He turned to face her again, stalked back over to her couch to stand over her, "but what was I s'posed ta' do, Kate? You know I ain't any kinda' father material…

She shook her head, "So you left. You just said 'have a nice life, Freckles' and walked away. You haven't called. You haven't written. I haven't _seen_ you in almost three years, Sawyer. How can you just show up like this? How can you just stop by and say you wanted to see me?"

"'Cause I _did_ wanna' see ya'!" he defended. "Look, I made a mistake, all right? I never shoulda' left. I know that now."

Kate just stared at him, her green eyes thoughtful, and then she licked her lips, "So what do you want?"

"What'dya' mean 'what do I want'? I don't want nothin', I just-"

"No. I mean right now. You're here. You came to see me. Why? What do you want from me? From _us_? _For_ us?"

"Us? You mean-"

"I mean _you_ and _me_, Sawyer. Did you come back just to say hi or…"

She let that trail off, and he dropped back heavily into the couch, "I dunno', Kate…I just been thinkin' 'bout ya' lately…all the shit we went through on that damn island…Ev'rywhere I go…ev'rythin' I do…it's just that I wish ya' were there with me. I wish things could be different…" He looked up at her, "I can't…stop…thinkin' about you."

Kate closed her eyes for what was just a bit longer than a standard blink. He saw a tear forming under her eyelashes of her right eye. "Sawyer," she sobbed, "everything fell apart after you left. I _wanted_ to pack up and go with you. But I couldn't leave LA. And I couldn't leave Aaron. What was I supposed to do? You left—I was heartbroken."

Sawyer felt a vague pinch in his own heart as she admitted that, but he worked to keep his face emotionless.

"I thought things would be different. I thought that you and me…I thought you wanted to start over—you _told _me you wanted to start over, remember? And I was willing. But then you left." She wiped at her eyes, said a bit more stiffly, "Then Jack came."

"Good ol' Jack." Sawyer muttered.

"He was so…and I was just…" she shook her head, like she was trying to clear away the memory. "You're different, you know? You two are so different—he _did _want to settle down. And after some convincing, he even wanted to be Aaron's step-father. He told me all the things I wanted to hear from _you_. He stuck around, Sawyer."

That brought him to his feet again, angry this time, "What did ya' expect from me, Kate? I ain't Daddy material! Hell, I ain't even husband material! An' let's face it—you ain't cut out ta' be a mother, or a wife! That's why-" he couldn't quiet get out the words, had to stop for a moment before continuing, "that's why ya' kicked_ him_ out…an' ya' still love _me._"

She nodded momentarily. "I do still love you. I probably always will." She shrugged, "But I kicked him out because I didn't want him around my son. Not because I don't care about him."

"Who do ya' _want_ ta' be with, Kate? Just end the suspense an' tell me. If ya' want that sonnova' bitch doctor fine. I'll leave t'night an' you'll never hear from me again."

She was crying openly now, as she jumped to her feet, "That's not what I want, Sawyer! I don't want to never hear from you again! I don't like being away from you! But if you don't want to live right here with me and my son then…then…"

He couldn't look at her for a second.

"You said you made a mistake, not sticking around, don't you want to fix it?"

He didn't answer, just thought. He hadn't come to LA to fix mistakes, but standing right there, right next to her, when she was so real, made him desperately want to leave everything else behind.

When he still didn't speak, she grabbed his arm, "You could stay here, you know? We don't have to get married. You don't have to adopt Aaron or anything. It doesn't even have to be permanent. You could just try it."

"What about Jack?" He muttered.

"What about Jack?"

"What's he gonna' think if I move in with ya'?"

Kate shook her head, "I don't care what he thinks."

"The man's already dangerously close ta' the edge there, Freckles. Do we really wanna' be the ones ta' push him off it?"

"He's made his choice, Sawyer. He had his chance and he gave it up." She ran her hand up over his shoulder, "I'm giving _you_ a second chance because you're not addicted to Oxycodone. And you're not drunk every night. And even if you aren't so good with kids," she leaned up to his ear, "even if you don't like kids…you could try."

Sawyer whispered. "Oxycodone?"

"It's a prescription medication. Jack got hooked on it a little while back. And there's no guarantee when or even if he'll ever get off it." Her words sounded cold to him, but he wasn't sure if that was because she didn't care about Jack or just because she didn't know how to deal with the truth.

He looked at her seriously, "Ya' gonna' trash me as soon as he comes back?"

"No. Of course not."

"You're trashin' him 'cause _I'm_ back." He couldn't suppress the anger. "You're always trashin' one of us, Freckles. Runnin' between us. It's enough ta' drive a man crazy."

She drew back, eyes offended, "You're defending him?"

"No. I just wanna' be clear on what you're offerin'."

"I'm _offering_ to forget about him and move on with _you_, just like we wanted."

He didn't speak.

"You're the one who came crawling to my door, Sawyer, but I'm the one who's willing to make all the sacrifices. Why are you holding back? I'm willing to forget that you just left me, with barely a good bye, and all you've got to do is stick around this time."

He started pacing again, shoving hair out of his eyes, "I've gotta' think."

"Think about what?"

"I can't screw Jack over like that, Kate."

She rolled her eyes, "You're not screwing him over, Sawyer. I kicked him out. He's not coming back. He doesn't have a chance anymore. What part of this aren't you understanding?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't feel right…"

Kate stared at him, after a moment demanded, "What _did_ you come here for?"

"I." He stopped and looked at her. "I want ta' be with ya'…that's all…"

"But you won't take any responsibility for Aaron?"

"I never said that."

"I'm so confused." She sat down, rubbing the sides of her head, "Why did you leave in the first place?"

He shrugged, "Just made a mistake."

"And now you want to start over?"

"Well…yeah."

"But you're worried I'm going to dump you for Jack as soon as he gets his act together."

Sawyer didn't answer, but shifted his weight back and forth.

"Do you really think I'd do that to you?"

"Ya' have before, that's all I'm sayin'."

"And that's the only reason you won't come back?"

"I never said I _wouldn't_ come back."

"Will you?"

"Not right now."  
She took a deep breath, and he could see she was frustrated, "Why not?"

"'Cause I don't know where ya' stand…with Jack an' ev'rythin'…an' if he wants ta' be with ya'…" he shook his head, "I just think it could cause more hurt than help."

"Since when do you care about Jack?"

He didn't know how to answer that, so he just shrugged lamely. "I don't."

"Yeah right."

"What's wrong with him anyway?"

Kate looked away, "He thinks we're supposed to go back to the island. He says there's nothing here for him and that we made a mistake leaving. I don't know. Some days I think he's right. Other days…I just worry he's crazy."

Sawyer thought a moment, wondering if he should tell her about Jack's suicide attempt from last night. Eventually he decided against it. "Not returnin' any of his calls?"

She turned her gaze on him again, "What were you doing with his cell phone anyway?"

"Stayed at his house last night."

Kate raised an eyebrow at him, "Why?"

"Ran inta' him…we had a few drinks…I had ta' drive him home." Sawyer shrugged, "It was better than rentin' a motel."

"And here I thought you hated him."

Sawyer didn't answer. He smoothed a hand back through his hair and took his sunglasses off at last.

Kate stared at him, "Your eye!" She jumped up and rushed to his side, laying a cool, soft hand on the side of his face, "What happened to it?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just got inta' a fight. Actually, I forgot all about it."

The concern didn't leave her face, and her fingers ran smoothly over his forehead.

Her scent and her touch were both so arousing and so familiar, so comforting when combined, that he suddenly couldn't stand to sit next to her and not touch her. All reason left his head, and all he could remember was her, standing there, next to him. The way she had used to look at him. The feel of her warm body in his arms. Her breathing in the night.

Not really thinking about it, he pulled her closer, winding an arm around her back, the other around her neck, and crushed his lips against hers, kissing her fiercely for a moment, reveling in the taste and smell and feel of her.

Kate didn't move for a moment, as if she were stunned, and then she began to kiss him back, her hands flowing up through his hair, sweeping down to his lower back. She settled down onto his lap, her lips brushing over his mouth, tongue teasing his own. "Sawyer…" she said between kisses.

"Hm?"

"I missed you…"

He pulled away for a second, looking deep into her eyes, swept a curl back from her forehead, "I know…"

"I don't want you to leave again," she clutched at his jacket, "ever."

For a response, he kissed her again, feeling up her sides, down her thighs. This was all he had wanted: this intimacy and this affection. Something he'd gotten so used to. Something he'd regretted losing.

Suddenly she stopped him, pressing one finger to his lips, "Wait."

"Wait for what?" He demanded.

"Aaron." Kate got up, smoothing her clothes, releasing his hand.

"I didn't hear nothin'."

"Mommy."

"Heard it that time." He sighed.

"I'm in the living room, Baby."

A moment later, a small boy came into sight: he was frail and elfin, with pale blonde hair and big blue eyes. It had been a long time since Sawyer had seen Claire, but the boy looked just like his mother, and Sawyer was taken back to the night she had disappeared. He'd carried that kid for miles through the jungle, not sure what had happened to the woman who'd given birth to him. Did that make him responsible some how? Did he _want_ to be responsible?

Kate went over to kneel beside him, "Hey, Sweetie. This is Mister Sawyer. He's Mommy's friend. Can you say hi?"

The little boy just looked at him, saying nothing.

Mister Sawyer…

As Sawyer looked at Aaron, a million thoughts hit him all at once. Memories of childhood. Hopes that hadn't come true. Dreams he hadn't achieved. Images of himself, playing ball with his father. Images of Cassidy, and her daughter, Clementine. His own daughter he'd never see.

He couldn't be a father. He couldn't offer that kind of love and support. He couldn't be that patient or that gentle. It wasn't him. More than that: it wasn't in him. No one had shown him how.

Heart torn, he looked at Kate, remembering the shape of her, taking to heart the look in her eyes, the color of them, the taste of her mouth, clinging to them so tight it hurt, because he knew that ultimately, this could be the last time he ever saw her.

Sawyer got up suddenly, grabbing his bag, and slid his sunglasses back into place, cleared his throat, "I gotta' go…"

Kate looked at him, startled, "Why? You just got here?"

"Just gotta'."

"At least have lunch with us."

"That's all right. I'll…call ya' later."  
He abandoned the living room and started for the front door.

She followed, "You're not just going to leave again, are you?"

"Not for good. I just hafta' think, Kate, 'bout us…and ev'rythin' else."

"All right," she said reluctantly, taking his hand, "call me later."

"I will. I promise."


	3. Like Suicide

3. Like Suicide

And it's the same old trip

_The same old trip as before_

_Another complicated suicide_

_And it's the same old trip_

_The same old trip as before…_

_--Seether_

He had a long walk back to Jack's, and a lot to think about, so it worked out perfectly. He had to think about what he really wanted—_really_ wanted, not just what he thought he wanted.

All his life, Sawyer had been chasing the American dream for wealth and luxury-with a side of revenge of course-but he'd never held out much hope for love before he'd met Kate. He'd always just assumed that love was something he wasn't supposed to have. Something he was better off without.

But meeting her had changed that. He'd never loved anyone before. Not for real. Not since his parents died. But as he'd gotten to know Kate the love had grown. It had gone from lust to desire to affection, to a real love. Something he couldn't deny anymore. And yet, he'd never said it to her face. He'd never said, 'Kate, I love you.' It was something implied. Something he'd just figured she knew.

When he'd made this trip out to LA, regardless of what its real purpose was, he had hoped there would be a way to get her back. To push Jack out of the way and move in with her and become everything for her he'd always wanted to be.

But things weren't the way he had expected to find them: there was no Jack to push out of the way. The doc had already effectively removed himself via a 'dangerous' lifestyle. And Kate, as far as Sawyer could tell, wanted nothing to do with him as long as he was boozing and popping Oxycodone-whatever that was-every night. As for the doctor himself, he was on the brink of suicide.

The truth was, he wasn't the kind of guy Kate needed. He was bad at the family thing, bad at sticking around. He couldn't even make a steady income because his job was illegal. He was a rogue, a criminal…not the family type. Not someone who should raise a kid. Not someone you'd want keeping you warm at night. Kate needed a husband—a man who knew about commitment and who would take care of her. And Aaron needed a father. Sawyer knew first hand how boys without fathers turned out.

And Jack needed to get his head out of his ass. He needed to put the liquor and the pills away, get his life straightened out, and start being the man he had been before: the calm, composed, level-headed commander-in-chief.

Kate needed Jack. And Jack needed Kate.

So Sawyer had to face the facts. He might not be able to get what he wanted.

Kate and Jack…he cared about the two of them in a way he cared for no one else. They were his friends. The only friends he had left. The only friends he'd ever had in his whole life. And if he were going to do something right, ever, he knew that this had to be it. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

A black limousine passed Sawyer, going the same direction he was, and the con artist stopped where he was, watching it go until it had disappeared around the bend. Bitter memories assaulted him and the bag he was carrying suddenly felt heavier. He closed his eyes, wishing he could just shut Kate's face and voice out of his mind forever.

Are you still conning people?

_No._

He wished it were true. Wished he were different. Then maybe he could have her. But he knew better than to hope for change that was impossible.

When he got back to Jack's, he felt totally drained, but he knew it wasn't from the walk or from the lack of food. He recognized his sudden symptoms of hopelessness and disinterest as depression. There was so much he had to do, and he didn't feel like he was ready to face any of it at all.

He walked right past the fridge and fell heavily on the couch; so why was he doing it? What was the reason?

Sawyer couldn't think of one, other than the reoccurring realization that it was for the best.

When Jack got home several hours later, he was still there, lying on his back, leafing through a medical journal he'd found under the cushion.

The doctor gave him a weird look when he came it, and Sawyer could see from the heavy, clouded look in his eyes that he was already high as a kite on something. Probably the Oxycodone Kate had mentioned.

"Welcome home, Sunshine." He said half-heartedly.

"You? You're still here?"

"What?" Sawyer sat up, "Ain't I welcome?"

"No…I mean…yeah…it's not that…I thought you'd be gone."

"Woulda' given ya' a call if I was leavin'; ya' left the number." He doubted Jack remembered that. Hung over in the morning, high in the afternoon, plastered at night…how could Jack remember _anything?_

"I…uh…forgot my phone…lost it somewhere." Jack searched his pockets for a moment, like he thought he'd find it.

Sawyer tossed the journal onto the coffee table and watched the doctor wander around into the kitchen. Jack disappeared behind the corner, but Sawyer heard him rattling around with something. Probably a bottle of something.

The war inside of him started raging again. This was the man who'd saved his life, more than once. Sawyer may not have been the best guy in the world, but he understood a sense of debt. He had a debt to Jack. Even if he'd rather not admit it out loud. And besides that, when he looked Jack in the eyes he could_ see_ the death, just waiting to consume him. At this rate, unless Jack found some kind of purpose in his life-something more fulfilling than fixing strangers up-he probably wouldn't last. Losing Kate had done some serious damage. Maybe getting her back was the only thing that could fix him.

Sawyer snorted out loud as he imagined the doctor with his arms around _his_ girl.

"You say something?" Jack called.

The con artist didn't answer.

He took a deep breath, found himself suddenly craving nicotine, even though he'd quit smoking three years ago when he'd run out of cigarettes on the island. He started to speak several times but cut himself short. At last he managed to say, with some level of calm, "I…went an' saw Kate t'day."

That brought Jack back around the corner in a hurry. "You did?"

"Yeah."

Jack looked at him expectantly. The beard seemed even more disgusting since this morning. Looked like the doc had gotten some lunch in it. "Well?"

"Well what?" Sawyer couldn't help sounding peeved. Even if he was the one who'd brought it up, it wasn't something he wanted to think about.

"Well, how was she?"

"She looked good." The con artist practically whispered. He didn't want to think about Kate, looking pretty, with those eyes, the way she'd touched him.

"Did she ask about me?"

"No. Not really."

That seemed to discourage the doctor, and he went back into the kitchen. When he re-emerged he had a glass of wine.

Sawyer raised an eyebrow at him, "Wine, Doc?"

"What? I always have a glass of wine after work."  
"I'll bet."

Jack was drinking it unnaturally quickly. "Hey…uh, I'm thinking about going out tonight. You want to come?"

"Out where?"

The doctor shrugged, "I know this place…"

Sawyer wondered if he was best friends with the bartender to _that_ place too. For a moment he had to battle back his natural apathy, forced himself to say, "Ever thought you're drinkin' too much, Doc'O?"

Jack almost laughed, "I thought I told you—I'm an alcoholic. You coming or not?"

The con artist really didn't want to. He felt Jack watching him, waiting for a response, but his eyes strayed from the doctor over to his travel bag, and he wanted nothing more than to go, pick it up, walk out that door and never come back. He wanted to go back to Kate and tell her that he'd made up his mind, that he wanted to be with her.

But he knew that Jack was going out, whether he went or not, and if he _didn't_ go, chances were the doctor would wind up with _his _eye blackened, or else he'd just run into a tree, or jump off a bridge or something.

If only he didn't care about Jack. If only he could go back in time and make it so that this strange sense of friendship had never developed.

Sawyer tried to think about when it had started exactly, what point he'd finally started thinking of Jack as a friend.

The glasses, he decided. It must have been the day Jack had made those God-awful glasses. The same day Boone died. Back then it had always seemed like Jack was the one helping him, and now, some how, that had gotten turned around, and for the first time, someone needed _him._ Jack, of all people, needed his help.

With a sigh, he got up, "Yeah. Why not?"

And he could think of a million answers to that question.

A while later, Sawyer found himself in a grungy bar with a heavy cloud of smoke in the dimly lit air, watching Jack put away glass after glass of Tequila. Sawyer just had a beer.

Jack looked up at him, "Don't you smoke an'more?"

They'd been there an hour and Jack was starting to slur his speech. Sawyer hoped this wouldn't end like last night, "Quit."

The doctor nodded.

Awkward silence came between them, and Sawyer took a drink from his longneck. He tried to convince himself that he didn't need to do this. Lot's of people drank. He was definitely not any kind of saint. Who was he to tell Jack to stop drinking? It made him feel like a hypocrite.

He watched Jack order another round.

I'm_ not an alcoholic._

"So, Jack," he started off casually, "when'd all this drinkin' start?"

Jack shrugged, "I don't know…'bout a year ago…"

Taking a moment to think through what he was going to say next, Sawyer took a swig of beer, "You're over-doin' it, don't ya' think?"

When Jack didn't answer he hoped it was an invitation to continue.

"Hell, Doc, I'm a red-blooded, all-American, good ol' boy from the South…I drink, just like ev'ryone else…this," he gestured to Jack, "is what we call 'outta' hand.'"

Jack seemed annoyed, "Y'know, sensible really doesn't suit you."

"I'm just sayin', Doc-"

"Let me re-phrase that," Jack was grinning, that familiar 'I'm annoyed with you' smile, "don't act concerned 'bout me…I don't believe it."

Sawyer stopped that line of thinking. He remembered how Jack's words could bite when he was drunk, and so far the Doc had been mild. Unless he was careful, it was going to get worse. Across the room he saw a tall man with a shaved head, wearing a light, purple, silk shirt. The man seemed to be staring right back at him.

He sighed, "'Kay, fair enough." He took a sip of beer, watched the cocktail waitress take the bald man a drink, trying to re-think what he was saying. Fortunately all his years of lying had made him pretty silver-tongued, "Jack, your father…"

"Let's not talk about him, please." Jack gulped some tequila.

"Just curious 'bout somethin'. After all, it's weird, ain't it? I just happened ta' run inta' him in Sydney, before gettin' in a plane crash with his son."

Jack glanced back and forth, like he was worried someone would overhear, "What about him?"

"Ya' said he's dead, right?"

For a moment the doctor seemed to panic, "Yes. He's dead. I'm sure of it. Why? You haven't…seen him…have you?"

Sawyer studied him intently. _What the hell is that about?_ He'd have to come back to that. Probably had to do with Oxycodone. Right now his tactics couldn't be interrupted, "No. 'Course not. Dead is dead. I'm just wonderin' somethin' though…if he's dead," he purposely took a long drink to build suspense, "what'd he die from, Jack?"

The doctor lowered his eyes, like there was something interesting at the bottom of his glass, "A heart-attack."

"I'm guessin' that was _after_ I saw him." Sawyer smiled, intentionally goading the doctor.

Jack glared up at him, "Yeah, Sawyer _after_ you saw him."

"Well then, I've just gotta' say it—don't ya' think his drinkin' spree had somethin' ta' do with him showin' up dead just a few days later."

"What's your point?'

"My point, Jack, is that people die from drinkin' too much."

"I know what I'm doin'."

"Right. Good. 'S long as ya' _know_ you're killin' yourself."

"Look, Sawyer," Jack snapped at last, "don't go playin' the straight-edge with me."

"Kinda' rough when we switch up the roles, ain't it?" Sawyer said sincerely. "I don't like it either." He leveled an intense gaze on Jack.

He hesitated for a second, knowing what he said next could either push everything in the right direction, or send it all over the cliff. "Don't think Kate's a big fan neither."

Jack slammed his drink down, and Sawyer was sure he was furious, but the doctor rested his forehead in one hand, smoothed it back over his short hair, "I know. Alright? I know…I messed up, 'kay? Ev'rything was goin' good for me, then I blow it." He shrugged, "I don't know how it happened…it just did. I _know_ she doesn't like it. I had my chance at her, just like you did…guess we both blew it.

"Not as bad as _you_ though."

"It doesn't matter." Jack said ruefully, "She's never gonna' take me back. Not when I'm like this…"

"Yeah, bet it's like kissin' a carpet." Sawyer glanced at the bald man again. What the hell was the queer bastard staring at?

"Funny." Jack snorted. But the smile faded quickly, "I know that…I'd hafta' clean up if I wanted her t' take me back…"

Sawyer bit the inside of his cheek, forced himself to speak, his voice so soft he was sure Jack wasn't going to hear it, "Well…well, why don't ya'?"

"Right." Jack laughed again. "Why don't I just quit drinkin', kick an addiction, shave the beard…" He suddenly slammed his fist down on the table, "'Cause I _can't_, Sawyer. Got it? I can't!"

"Can't exactly feel sorry for ya', Jack…I quit smokin': ain't that s'posed ta' be tougher than kickin' H?"

Jack seemed to genuinely think about that for a moment, "That doesn't matter…I'm not doin' this 'cause I decided to…I just…needed to feel better…I'm…depressed." He smiled wryly. "And the one thing that coulda' fixed it…I lost it…"

Sawyer was silent.

"Kate and Aaron…they were the only thing I got to keep that was worth havin'…after we lef' the island…it was like nobody needed me an'more. But they still did. Kate needed me to stand up for her, in the trial. Aaron needed a father. I was tryin'…but then…I just…"

He looked up, seeming to remember who he was talking to, laughed and sucked down the tequila that was left in his glass, "Man, I am talkin' to the _wrong_ guy 'bout this, huh?"

"Ain't my favorite topic." Sawyer admitted, his eyes straying across the room to the man in the purple shirt. By this time he was almost positive that the man was staring right at them.

"What do you keep lookin' at over there?" Jack followed his gaze.

Sawyer suppressed his uneasiness and nudged his travel bag with one foot, just to make sure it was still there, "Pretty sure Professor X over there is checkin' you out, Hoss." He smirked at him.

Jack just laughed, "Don't try t' distract me, Sawyer."

"Ain't tryin'." He took a deep breath and then downed enough booze in one gulp that it made him dizzy for a second, "Hey, listen…sorry I dropped in all unexpected like this, but I just-"

"'Sall right." Jack slapped him on the shoulder, jostling the beer he was holding so that it sloshed on him."

Irritated, Sawyer brushed himself off, "Right. Never mind Doc."

"Wha?"

"Nothin'. All I'm sayin' is if ya' care 'bout her, Doc…ya' need ta' quit this bullshit." He got up, a headrush hitting him so that he almost fell, but ignored it.

Jack gave him a questioning look. "Sawy-"

"Let's go." The con artist growled, not looking back. "Think that's enough for tonight…"

He moved through the bar quickly, navigating towards the door without looking at anyone directly, but keeping a cautious gaze on the bald man. The man's eyes followed him curiously, so Sawyer picked up the pace. He figured Jack could deal with the bill—after all, he was doing all of this for him.

After a moment, Jack was beside him. He gritted his teeth, hoping the doctor wouldn't have a comment about what he'd just said.

Instead, Jack said, "Hey, y' gonna' stick around a little longer?"

"In LA?"

"Yeah…in LA."

Sawyer shrugged, clutching his bag tighter, nodded, "Yeah, I still got some business ta' deal with."

Kate was tossing and turning in bed when the phone rang. It was 2:09 in the morning, and she hadn't slept for even a second. Seeing Sawyer earlier had totally blown her world apart, reminding her of everything that had ever tormented her: it took her back to Wayne, and her mother, and her weighty crime, which had led her to Australia, and then to the island, which took her to Jack, and to Aaron, then to Claire, which made her think about Charlie and how the two of them had really loved each other, and love always made her think about Tom, how sweet he'd been as a kid, and how bad she'd wanted to run away with him. Because of Wayne. Which took her straight back to Sawyer.

Everything seemed to begin and end with him. And all through it all, she kept thinking about poor Jack. How far he'd fallen from the great leader he'd been on the island. It was enough to make her want to cry.

Fortunately the phone rang, giving her a moment to dismiss the uneasy thoughts and think, _Who the hell is calling me at two in the morning?_

The relief was momentary though, and everything came back to her, all the heavier, when she heard who it was.

"Well, good mornin', Freckles."

Kate sat up in bed, "Sawyer?"

"I didn't wake ya' up, did I?"

"No…I was awake. What are you doing? Where are you?"

"Just over havin' a drink at the doc's place."

"You're drinking with Jack?" She felt a little angry at him for that, "You know, the last thing he needs is your encouragement—Even if you don't like him-even if you _never_ liked him-even if you _hate_ him, don't you think that's just a little low, Sawyer? Even for you?"

He hesitated, and she could tell that, for some reason, her words had hurt him.

Sawyer sighed. She could hear him shifting the phone around, "I ain't exactly drinkin' with him _now_. He passed out a little while ago; had ta' drag the crazy bastard up ta' bed."

"What?" She couldn't fight back the panic, "Is he okay?"

That seemed to annoy Sawyer, "Yeah, he's fine. Take it easy. Just too much ta' drink—you know."

"So you're still at his house then?" She thought it was odd that Sawyer was staying with Jack. She wished he were staying with her instead.

"Yeah, I'm still at his house."

"What are you doing? I mean, why are you there? You two don't even get along. You can't even have a conversation without arguing."

"Had to drive him home. Should I have let him drive off the side of a cliff instead?" Sawyer sneered.

"No," she sighed, added hesitantly, "I'm glad you're there, Sawyer…even if you guys don't get along. I'm glad that you're…taking care of him."

There was a long pause on the other line.

"Sorta' wish I had."

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just thinkin' out loud. Hey, listen, I didn't call ta' tell ya' 'bout all this, Kate."

"It's pretty early for a chat, don't you think?"

"This's important."

"What is it?"

"Just listen."

Kate glanced around the room, a little nervous about the gravity she heard in Sawyer's voice. For a moment she'd been toying with the theory that he was drunk too, but he seemed perfectly sober.

There was another, even longer pause. Then Sawyer sighed heavily. "Would ya' forgive me, Freckles?"  
"What? I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"If I…did something bad…if I hurt someone ya' love…would ya' forgive me?"

The sincerity in his tone mixed with the graveness of the words scared her, and she got out of bed suddenly, "Wait a minute. I-I don't…what did you do?"

"Nothin'. Yet."

"Then why are you asking? What are you _going_ to do?"

"Let's face it, Freckles…this can't end well without _one_ of us getting' hurt, can it?"

"Who are you talking about?" She practically yelled.

"Me an' Jack Daniels here."

"You aren't making sense."

"It's like in the stupid books an' movies they make…'bout the two guys fightin' over the girl," his voice was suddenly hushed, and she could detect some grief in it. "ya' know that right? It's gotta' be one of us…me or him."

"Sawyer…"

"So I'm askin' ya' ta' forgive me, Freckles, ahead of time, for what I've got ta' do."

Her heart was hammering in her chest, pounding so hard it hurt, and all she could picture was Sawyer doing something horrible to Jack. She didn't know what was worse: the thought of Jack being dead or the thought that Sawyer would be shipped off for life because of it. "Don't." She felt like she was begging, "Please, Sawyer…don't…don't hurt him…I-I know this is all my fault…please don't punish him for what _I'm_ doing…"

Sawyer laughed, "Beggin' don't suit ya', Freckles."

"Sawyer…Sawyer, please. He trusts you…"

"That's the problem, ain't it?"  
They were both quiet for a long time.

She demanded again, quieter, "What are you going to do?"

"You'll find out."

"Are you gonna' make me call the cops on you?"

"Please, Freckles. Y'd never call the cops on anyone, am I right? Ya' know what that's like."

Kate closed her eyes, knowing he was right. "Please don't hurt Jack."

"I've gotta' go."

"Sawyer, wait-"

"G'night, Freckles."

"Sawyer!"  
But he had already hung up.


	4. Breaking the Habit

4. Breaking the Habit

Memories consume

_Like opening the wound_

_I'm picking me apart again_

_You All assume I'm safe here in my room_

_Unless I try to start again_

_I don't want to be the one the battles always choose_

But inside I realize that I'm the one confused

_--__Linkin Park_

Jack made his way across the parking garage toward his Bronco. It had been a long, difficult day at work, and even though he was going home earlier than usual, he felt totally beat. On top of being hung over all morning, he hadn't gotten a chance to stock up on any Oxycodone, so he felt abnormally in touch with reality, and reality hurt. His eyes felt dry and achy, and his head was pounding after spending eight hours in the hospital. Everything had been going wrong, it felt like, ever since leaving the island. He was tired. More tired than he'd ever been in his whole life. Losing Kate hadn't helped either, and now that Sawyer was in town, he was afraid that the con artist was going to swoop in, with all his bravado and rugged charm, and just steal Kate away. This time, he might never get her back.

But he was glad to see Sawyer anyway. It took him back to simpler days, when people had looked up to him and respected him. _Sawyer_ never had, of course. They'd been polar opposites since the word go. But still, somehow through it all, Jack felt like he'd found a friend, even though he wasn't sure _why_ he felt that way. Sawyer had never really done anything for him. He wasn't exactly reliable or the kind of shoulder someone would want to cry on. But there was something about him, about the fact that he never changed, and didn't care what others thought of him, something about that consistency that was comforting. He was strong in ways that Jack was weak, and the last few days he'd been LA had been better than Jack had had in months. It was nice having someone who'd drive him home, even if all the sarcastic comments weren't edited out. It was nice seeing a familiar face when he got home at night. It was nice to, for the first time in a while, have someone to drink with.

Jack heard someone coming up behind him and tried not to get nervous. Ever since leaving the island he'd been looking for danger where there wasn't any, and he didn't want to look like a maniac. He just wanted to go home and have a nice, relaxing drink. That would make everything feel much better.

"Excuse me."

The doctor stopped cold and turned around. A man was coming forward. He was dressed in a business suit without a tie and had a sly look on his face. Behind him was a tall black guy wearing dark glasses and a tuxedo. He looked like the typical bodyguard type.

Jack felt his heart trying to crawl up into his throat. What if this had to do with Charles Widmore? What if they knew the Oceanic Seven were lying? What if the game was up at last? Could he protect Kate? Aaron? No. He knew that that was impossible now. He couldn't even help himself.

"Can I help you?"

The man approached slowly, like he was being cautious, and even though he was smiling there was something about him Jack didn't trust. Something dangerous. "Doctor Jack Shephard?" He spoke with a sophisticated, British accent.

"That's me."

Grinning even more, the man extended his hand, "I'm Eric Hawkins."

Jack shook it—it seemed greasy for some reason, and he had to fight the urge to wipe his hand on his pants when he let go. "Do I know you, Mr. Hawkins?" He studied the man's face, trying to place him, thinking maybe he was a patient or the friend of a patient. All his patients were cloudy these days. He couldn't place anyone.

"I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you before, no," Hawkins grinned a toothy smile, "but we have a mutual friend, Mr. Shephard.

Jack looked at him expectantly, sure the man was going to say 'your father', or maybe 'Sayid' or 'Hugo Reyez'.

"Ford. Mr. James Ford."

For some reason hearing Sawyer's real name turned Jack's blood to slush. He shook his head, "I don't know any-"

"You might know him better as _Sawyer_ Ford. You were on the plan together—he's one of the Oceanic Seven, just like you are, so I'd be surprised if you told me that you don't-"

"Sawyer. Right. Sorry. I'm just not used to hearing his real name."

"Understandable."

Hawkins didn't proceed, and Jack was starting to feel nervous and irritated. The craving for drugs and alcohol was maddening, and he just wanted to go home and get so drunk he wouldn't even remember this. "Is there something you want from me, Mr. Hawkins?"  
"Actually no, not per say. However, I was hoping you could help me locate our mutual friend, Mr. Ford."

"Sawyer? He's-" Jack cut himself off, glanced from Hawkins back to the black man. Something seemed off about this, so he didn't dare give anything away. Not until he knew for sure what they wanted. "I haven't seen him in years."

"Really? That's too bad. Rumor has it he's here, in LA, and I was just hoping to have a word with him, if I could. But you see, he's suddenly abandoned all of his personal belongings. I couldn't reach him by cell phone, and no one seems to know where he is."

Jack's mind raced. Sawyer had admittedly shown up in LA with next to nothing-just that travel bag he wouldn't let out of his sight-and he had thought that was strange, but he hadn't imagined there was any significance to it.

"A man of few connections, our Mister Sawyer." Hawkins said, and then he looked at Jack intently. "Well, if you haven't seen him you haven't seen him."

The doctor nodded, "Sorry I couldn't help."

"Indeed. Well. If Mr. Sawyer does show up-if you run into him, that is-you will tell him that his good friend Eric Hawkins is looking for him, won't you? Tell him it's important." Hawkins slid a business card out of his sleeve and handed it to Jack.

"Sure. I'd be happy to."

Smiling like a shark, Hawkins turned away, said to his bodyguard, "Let's go." And then they both walked away, and disappeared around the corner.

Jack glanced down at the business card. It wasn't really much of a business card: it was blank and white, with just the name Eric D. Hawkins printed on it, and a phone number where he could be reached. No address, website or even proclamation of business. The doctor tucked the card away and continued on his way to the card, not sure what to think of what had just happened.

Hopefully Sawyer was still at his house, and he could ask _him_ about it. And then, if this guy-this Eric D. Hawkins-was really a 'good friend' of Sawyer's, he could deal with it himself.

Jack just wanted a drink.

The drive home seemed longer than usual, and the whole way there Jack kept thinking about the odd conversation he'd had with the mysterious man in the parking garage, and then pulling the card out and turning it over and over again, just to make sure there was no more information on it. By the time he got to his house, he was exhausted, and the longing for alcohol was worse than ever.

He locked up the Bronco and staggered up to the house, rubbing at his eyes again.

As he approached the door, he noticed a non-descript, white car he'd never seen before, sitting outside his house. It looked like there was someone sitting in the driver's side. Normally that wouldn't have bothered him, but after the incident with Hawkins he felt uncertain about everything.

With a sigh, he dug out his key. Just a few steps away. Just a few more minutes, and then he could have a drink. Sort everything out later. But now a drink.

Sawyer was still there all right, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, just looking at the door, like he'd been waiting for Jack to show up.

He smirked at the doctor, "Before ya' say it, yes, I'm still here."

"I don't care." Jack muttered. He really didn't right then. There was nothing he cared about other than a glass of something. Something strong.

Sawyer's smirk didn't falter. "Maybe I'll just leave then." Contrary to what he was saying, Sawyer hoisted himself onto the counter.

Jack felt annoyed, not only by the fact that Sawyer was sitting on his counter, but also because he didn't want him to go. "Leave then."

"Easy, Doc, ya' just might hurt my feelin's if ya' ain't careful."

Not saying anything, Jack went to the cupboard where he kept his spirits. Just a few more seconds, and then he could have that drink.

Jack took down his whiskey. That was always good for a Friday. He poured himself a small glass and took a drink, felt Sawyer watching him. When he looked up, the con artist had this weird look on his face that Jack couldn't quite place.

To get that off his mind, he took out the business card again, "Here."

"What's this?" Sawyer took it, naturally tentative.

"You tell me." He watched the con artist's face go from tentative to startled. Then he even looked worried.

"Where'd ya' get this, Doc?"

"A man came up to me today, when I was on my way out to my car. Said he was a friend of yours—that he's been looking for you."

Sawyer's brow furrowed as he looked at the card, "What'dya' tell him?"

"That I hadn't seen you in years." Jack took another swallow. His bad day was starting to feel a little better as the burn flowed down through his chest. "Who is he anyway?"

"Nobody. I ain't ever heard of him."

From the controlled, soft sound of Sawyer's black voice, Jack could tell that wasn't the truth.

"C'mon, Sawyer, you know I don't believe that."

"Ya' should. It's the truth."

Jack shook his head and polished off the last of his whiskey, "Suit yourself. But you should probably call him—whether you know him or not, he's looking for you."

Sawyer looked up at Jack, his eyes seeming to sparkle for a moment, with interest or something. "Ya'…sober t'day, Jack?"

Jack snorted, "I am right now."

The con artist nodded but said nothing, and Jack wondered what he was getting at. Then he sighed and stretched, turned to go up to his room to change. He had to get out of these uncomfortable, hot clothes, pour another drink, and then…just…

While he was up changing, he heard quite a bit of clattering around, the ring of glass against glass, the sound of water running from the faucet, something falling, Sawyer letting a curse slip through his teeth, and then silence.

"What the hell is that crazy idiot doing?" He yanked a shirt on and hurried back downstairs.

But Sawyer was just standing there, like he hadn't moved at all. He watched Jack coming, his eyes alive with knowledge.

Jack hesitated in the threshold of the kitchen, looking around, "What are you doing?"

"Nothin'."

"What was all that noise?"

"Noise, Doc?"

"You can't tell me you didn't hear that."

"Didn't hear nothin'." Sawyer's voice was still low and husky, like he was deep in thought, or keeping a secret.

Annoyed, Jack went back to the liquor cabinet. Now that he was dressed more comfortably he could finally get the real drink he'd been wanting all day. "I'm going to have a drink. You want one."

"I don't think ya' should, Doc."

"Yeah, well, I'm having one anyway. Do you want one or don't you?"

"No thanks."

Jack opened the cabinet and stopped. It was totally empty. His whole body went rigid as he realized that all the spirits he'd had five minutes ago were gone. "What the…?" He turned on Sawyer, his eyes steely, "Where is it?"

"Where's what, Holliday?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Whatever it is, ya' can't complain too much—ya' said ta' help myself ta' whatever."

"The liquor, Sawyer. I had four bottles. Where did it all go?"

Sawyer pointed flippantly at the sink, "Some sewer rat's gonna' have himself one helluva' Friday."

"You dumped it down the sink?" Jack looked at him incredulously.

"All but this." Sawyer took out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and popped it open, taking a long swig.

Unable to contain his anger and his disappointment, Jack grabbed him by the collar, swung him around and pushed him against the marble-top island, "You filthy son of a bitch."

"Easy there, Jack'O."

"Don't you 'Jack'O' me, you crazy redneck! You dumped all that down the sink, now I want to know why!"

"Needed ya' ta' be sober ta' hear what I've got ta' say."

"What are you talking about?" Jack felt so dangerously close to just punching Sawyer's lights out. He wanted to avoid that, since Sawyer would, undoubtedly, punch back, but the urge was so great it was like a physical pain in his body.

"Got somethin' ta' say an' it won't do me no good if your drunk when I say it."

Jack gritted his teeth. What kind of game was Sawyer playing now? He was always working over these ulterior motives, always scheming things. Maybe coming to LA had been a big scheme in itself. Maybe he was planning to con something out of Jack.

The doctor didn't want to believe that though. He wanted to believe Sawyer was his friend. He knew he'd just have to give him the benefit of the doubt, regardless of how angry he was.

"This had _better_ be good."

"All depends really. Ya' might care. Ya' might not."

"I'm not really in a caring mood."

"That's a new one."

"Sawyer," he was practically shouting, "you've got ten seconds to explain _why_ you-"

"'Cause I need your help!" Sawyer shouted back.

Jack hesitated, at first not sure he'd heard right. Sawyer didn't say that. Not so flippantly at least. "What? My help? What in the world would _you_ ever need me to-"

The con artist shoved him off, "Just listen, all right?" He gave Jack a ferocious look, then walked over to the window, glanced out, scanning the street for cars, turned back to Jack, "I'm a con artist, all right?"

"I know." Jack sighed, still not seeing any reason to let his anger go, "If you tell me you poured that down the sink just so you could tell me _that_ I'll-"

"So I con people. People with money. Ya' know that one, right?"

"What's that have to do with-"

"Couple months back…I was in Las Vegas, went inta' business with this guy…" he looked at Jack meaningfully, "we were workin' on a con together. My partner, he's friends with this chick-some daughter of the CEO ta' a big company-and he decides he wants ta' con her father. Figurin' he's got enough money that it won't make a big difference."

"Don't tell me you got caught." Jack made sure to make it obvious through his tone that he wouldn't care if Sawyer _had_ gotten caught. He really didn't care at the moment. He just wanted a drink. And the only alcohol left in the house was the half-gone bottle of whiskey Sawyer had in one hand.

"No. Worse." Sawyer lowered his eyes, paced through the room, glancing out the window each time he went by it. It was pretty clear he was nervous about something. "No one followed ya' here, right?"

Jack glanced out the window too, thinking about the white car parked outside. But that had been there when he'd arrived, so… He shook his head, "No. I don't think so. Why?"

"I…I made a mistake," Sawyer pushed his hand back through his hair, "I helped this guy con the CEO…but then I screwed him over the money."

"Wait…I don't-"

"I cheated 'im, all right, Jack! I helped this guy get the money just long enough ta' take it!" Sawyer snatched his travel bag up, unzipped it and pulled out a small satchel. "Ya' wanna' know what's in this? Why I won't leave it upstairs?" With a few deft movements of the hand, he revealed a stock-load of cash.

Jack's eyes went wide as he stared at the pile of money, trying to fathom how much was there. Tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Who knew? Sawyer had gotten off a plane in LAX and been walking around LA totally loaded. "Oh, my God." He turned away, rubbing his aching head, "Are you crazy?"

"I've done it before." Sawyer zipped it up again, "Standard deal for me. Only this time, turns out I conned the wrong guy. Turns out my so-called partner was a the son of the boss of some big-time crime syndicate in Chicago."

"Jesus." Jack kept rubbing his head. He was still feeling the affects of last nights binge.

"Couldn't stick around there, or I'd be cold right now. So I ran. Had ta' ditch my car, had ta' leave all my stuff in the Hotel, an' just get out. 'S why I don't got much with me."

Jack nodded. It was all making sense now: traveling so light, not saying what he'd come to LA for, just hanging around like this, even when it was totally out of character for him to do so… maybe if Jack had been sober he would have noticed those things sooner, but…

"Didn't know where ta' go," Sawyer lowered his head, crossed over to the sink and stared down the drain for a moment, and Jack detected a hint of fear and regret in his voice as he said, "I-I don't got friends-"

Jack couldn't help saying, "Well I wonder why. If you go screwing everybody over why would you-"

"I ain't never screwed _you_ over, Jack." Sawyer said coldly.

Jack hesitated, then nodded, "Yeah. Taking the guns was pretty bad though."

"But it was different."

He studied the con man for a moment, not sure what to think of the story. It was strange to him, like something out of a movie, something that didn't happen every day. But then, Jack knew that he lived in a fairly simple world where he went to work every day, performed a skill in the service of others, for a living, and came home.

Sawyer's world was like the opposite side of the same coin: dangerous and violent and corrupted. He didn't work a regular job. He didn't get paid for a skill he'd learned in college. He just did what he was good at—conning people out of their money. Apparently he wasn't as far from the movies as Jack was.

The con man faced him again, "I didn't figure they'd find me here. Hell, I didn't really mean ta' run inta' ya', but I guess it's lucky I did. Thought I'd hide out with ya' for a while, maybe tell ya' what was up, see if ya' could…" he let the thought drop away.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Jack demanded.

"Wanted to." Sawyer scoffed bitterly, "_Tried _to. Ya' were so damn drunk…wasn't much point. Was gonna' call ya' at work, explain it over the phone, but ya' forgot the damn thing."

"But you're telling me now. You must have a good reason." Jack's eyes narrowed as he looked at him. "That Hawkins guy. What does he have to do with this?"

Sawyer visibly hesitated, "Hate ta' bother ya' 'bout it, Doc. I wouldn't bring it up, 'cept…after what ya' told me t'day…Hawkins was my partner. The guy whose money I took."

"How did he figure out where you are?"

Sawyer shrugged, "Crime syndicates do lotsa' stuff, Boss."

"Fine," Jack accepted that, as much as he wanted to deny it. If Sawyer was really in over his head the way he said he was, he couldn't afford to second-guess him. "but what's any of this have to do with me?"

A moment passed, and the Sawyer looked up at him, face tight with a cross between anger and fear, "This guy's got it out for me, Jack. Don't know what he told ya' but it don't matter. He wants his money back—that's why he's here. Simple as that."

The words and their delivery were chilling: so grave and so solemn, so positive, without any room for an 'if' or an 'unless'. It was like Sawyer was announcing his own death sentence. Jack paced for a moment, back and forth through the kitchen, mind pulling him in a thousand different directions. He wanted to help. He was afraid to get involved. He couldn't let some crazy con artist kill Sawyer. But it wasn't his business. But Sawyer was his friend. If they were still on the island this wouldn't be happening. And he still needed a drink. Worse than ever now. He rubbed his hand over his beard, stuttered, "I..I _want_ to help you, Sawyer…you know I do, but look at me." He laughed bitterly, "Does it look like I'm in any kind of shape to help anyone?"

Sawyer studied him thoughtfully, "Jack…you're the best chance I got at gettin' outta' this…"

"You don't understand. I…" Jack took a deep breath, staring out the window, hardly able to say the truth without breaking down, "I'm a mess. I can't even help myself…how can I help you?" He hated those words so much.

There was another minute of silence, and then Sawyer nodded, "Right." He sighed and headed toward the front door, "I guess, in that case, I'd better get goin'. If Hawkins is lookin' for me it's only a matter of time 'til he finds me. Gotta' figure somethin' out."

Jack watched him leaving, the directions he was being pulled seeming stronger than ever. He couldn't just let Sawyer walk out the door like that. What else could he do? On the island what would he have done? He would have kept Sawyer from leaving, first of all, and promised that he was going to fix it. But he couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix anything. Not anymore.

But wouldn't it be great if he could? Wouldn't it be a wonderful feeling if just this one last time he was of some use to someone?

"Sorry ta' bother ya', Jack."

"Sawyer, wait a minute."

"Wait for what?" Sawyer glared at him, "I ain't got time for this—an' you've got your own troubles ta' work out." The con artist gestured to the whiskey bottle he'd left on the counter.

"Just wait a minute. Just let me think." Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. At last he sighed, "How can I help?"

The con artist didn't answer.

"You came here, so you must have thought I could help you. Just tell me what to do."

Sawyer's voice was blank and resigned, "Nothin', Doc. There's nothin' ya' can do ta' help me now."

"But-"

"Get a grip, Jack! You're right—you're way too drunk ta' be any use ta' anybody! It's pathetic! On the island ya' were some great hero, and now, here in the real world you're a total joke!"

The words hurt, but Jack bit back any protests, because he knew it was true.

"I come here tellin' ya' this guy's gonna' take it outta' my hide when he finds me, an' all you've got ta' say is 'I wish I could help.' That ain't the Jack I know. The Jack I know would give some dumb speech an' make some promise he couldn't keep 'bout savin' ev'rybody and livin' together!

"Y'know, I used ta' think ya' were just an idiot for tellin' us stuff like that, that ya' just didn't know what else ta' say. You'd tell us ev'rythin' was gonna' be okay when we all knew it wasn't. I thought it was stupid." Sawyer's voice got a little quieter, but didn't lose its rough edge, "But I know now that it wasn't. Ya' were givin' them hope. Even if it was just a fake hope it was better than nothin'. That's what made 'em follow ya', Doc, that fake shard o hope that one day we were gettin' outta' there." He pushed forward, getting right in Jack's face, so that all the doctor could see were his fierce, blue eyes, "What's the matter? Ain't ya' got none of that fake hope left for me?"

Jack lowered his head, ashamed. He couldn't believe how far he'd fallen either—it made him feel sick.

"I ain't gonna' sugar coat it, Doc. Ya' were…a great man…on the island…great leader. Too serious sometimes, but, still… ya' had what it took ta' take care o ev'ryone." He stared at Jack, his gaze so intense the doctor could feel it, "Here, now, you're just pathetic."

"I know!" Jack screamed, feeling the anger snap, "I don't need you telling me that! I know already! Kate told me! And even if she hadn't, I would still know! That's why I need to get back to the island!"

"The damn island didn't have nothin' ta' do with it, Jack!" Sawyer shoved him. "Ya' really think a _place_ was the only reason ya' could do what ya' did? Know what I think? You _always_ had that stuff inside ya', an' ya' just didn't realize it! Whatever your old man told ya', he was wrong! Those people woulda' followed ya' right through the gates o hell without askin' questions, an' not because we were on some island an' there was nobody better ta' follow—we _trusted_ you, Jack. All of us. You were our leader."

Jack turned away, unable to face Sawyer, so close to tears his throat burned. The con artist was good at being blunt, and he'd just summed up the truth, and that truth make Jack feel both inspired and feeble. "I…I just…" He bit back a sob.

For a moment longer, Sawyer looked at him, and then he sighed and started to turn away, "Have a nice life, Doc."

"Wait." Jack spun around, clawing the air for the other man's shirt sleeve and catching him just in time. "Just wait. Don't leave, all right? Just stay here, and we'll figure something out, together. I'll…I'll try to stay sober, until we get a plan together."

Sawyer looked at him passively.

"I-I don't want to let you down, Sawyer…just give me a chance to help you. Please?"

At first the con artist didn't answer, and then, slowly, as if he was thinking very hard about it, he faced Jack again and set his travel bag at his feet.

"I don't know, Jack-"

"Sawyer. I need to do this. Please."

His eyes flickered. His frown became a smirk. "Ease up there, Mon Capitan. All ya' had ta' do was ask nice."


	5. ThankYou For the Venom

5. Thank-You for the Venom

So give me all your poison

_And give me all your pills_

_And give me all your hopeless hearts that make me ill_

_You're running after something that you'll never kill_

_If this is what you want then fire at will_

_-- My Chemical Romance_

The glass trembled in his hand, and he tried to hold it still, but it wasn't something he could control. His whole body had been shaky for the last few days, and he couldn't help looking around, back and forth trying to convince himself that everything was okay. The anxiety and the shakiness, he knew, were both symptoms of the alcohol withdrawals he was going through, and that made it hard to function.

On Friday Sawyer hadn't let him have the whiskey bottle at all—he'd hidden it somewhere. And on Saturday, Jack had had to go without any alcohol at all. It made for a nightmarish weekend. Here it was Sunday afternoon, and the detox symptoms had been so bad, he was thinking he might be forced to call in sick tomorrow. Maybe even for the rest of the week.

All weekend, he and Sawyer had been sitting at Jack's house, just doing nothing. They played cards sometimes, and the TV was almost always on, but neither of them paid very close attention to it. To the doctor it felt like they were waiting for something to happen, but neither of them knew what it was or when it would come. It was like a rain cloud in the air, waiting to burst.

Jack was showering more regularly now, partially because he was bored, and partially because he felt irritable and tired. Sawyer had even convinced him to trim that 'animal that's been livin' on your face.' And then to eat even when he hadn't been even slightly hungry. So now, for the first time in months, when Jack looked in the mirror, he actually recognized himself. He was getting sober, slowly, and trying to convince himself that the consequences-the withdrawal symptoms in particular-were worth it.

Some part of him resented Sawyer for pouring all the booze down the sink, but then his rational side came on and reminded him that Sawyer had never said that he couldn't go buy more. There was a liquor store just five blocks away. The con artist wasn't stopping him—at the moment, the discomfort was self-imposed.

Jack glanced around. He hadn't seen Sawyer for almost an hour now, and he could only wonder where he'd gone. _Probably upstairs sleeping._ The doctor stirred the glass in his hand.

Yesterday he had finally snapped and taken the whiskey bottle, poured himself a glass, but with Sawyer sitting there watching, and his promise to help him hovering in the air, it was impossible to drink very much. He'd only had a glass, but his body was constantly demanding more.

Now the whiskey bottle was three fourths of the way gone, and Jack was seriously thinking about getting up and pouring more. There was no reason why he shouldn't. Nothing had happened. Maybe nothing was going to happen. He knew he had promised he'd try to stay sober, but if nothing was happening what was the point? Beside, it had only been a promise to _try_. Sawyer couldn't really expect him, an alcoholic in every sense of the word, to just quit, cold turkey, out of nowhere.

Jack stared at the whiskey bottle, thinking very seriously about getting up and dumping out the water he'd been drinking and replacing it with something stronger: namely, the whiskey.

At last, he heaved himself to his feet, feeling a little dizzy, and padded toward it. He liked the sound of the whiskey tinkling in the glass as he poured it, and the pungent smell of it. He raised it to his lips, already feeling calmer.

"Hey Boss," Sawyer came around the corner, not being abnormally loud or anything, but Jack still jumped so severely that some of the whiskey sloshed on his shirt. He bit back a curse.

Sawyer looked at him, "Ya' better take it easy on this; it's the last bottle ya' have, ain't it? Unless ya' wanna' be here without _any _booze at all, ya' should probably drink it moderately." Sawyer took a hit straight from the bottle.

Jack hated that he had the audacity to tell him to 'take it easy' and then drink it himself, right there in front of him. He snorted, "Actually, I was just about to go to the liquor store and buy some more."

"Hm." Sawyer swished the whiskey around in his mouth for a second, then swallowed loudly, grinned at Jack, "What, ya' just thought of that?"

"Of course I didn't _just_ think of it, but you-"

"I ain't makin' ya' stop drinkin', Jack. I don't care if ya' drink yourself ta' death."

Jack could feel how hollow and fake those words were, just a front to cover up what Sawyer was really thinking. _Whatever_ he was really thinking. Jack still couldn't figure it out. He'd come here, out of nowhere, with next to nothing, treated that bag like it was made of gold, had seemingly tried to talk Jack out of drinking, and then announced suddenly that he was actually on the run from a crime syndicate. It was all so bizarre.

Sawyer seemed to take Jack's silence as an indication that he had changed his mind. He sighed, "Jack, if ya' don't wanna' do this, just say so. I can think of somethin' by myself."

"No," Jack said firmly. What was wrong with him? He knew he had to deny his craving. He had to take control over his own body. Sawyer needed him to. If he didn't help the con artist no one would, and he'd probably wind up dead. "I'm going to help you. I said I would. So I will." He set the whiskey down with a shaking hand and rubbed his head. It felt like it was splitting in two. "We're going to get through this. I promise."

The con artist stared at him.

"What?"

"Ya' look like a different person," Sawyer drank another swallow of whiskey, "with that beard. It's like…ya' ain't Jack."

Jack just looked at him. There might have been truth in what Sawyer was saying. He hadn't _felt_ like Jack in almost a year now. Ever since he'd started up with the alcohol and then the oxycodone, he'd felt like someone totally different: a coward, a pathetic, disgusting, worthless little man with nothing left in life. He felt like he was becoming his father: one bad slice of the scalpel away from a malpractice suit, and one more drink away from an alcohol-induced heart attack.

He thought back to that night on the bridge, how Sawyer had just come out of nowhere and stopped him from jumping. He _had_ been going to jump. He had made up his mind that day. And with good reason.

"Sawyer," he said slowly, "I have to tell you something. If I don't tell you now, I don't think I'll ever tell anyone. I don't think I'll ever have the guts to tell."

"I'm lis'nen."

He probably really was too. That was the thing about Sawyer. He had always been a lot more observant than anyone had ever realized. Maybe he was like Jack. Maybe there was someone else inside of him too. Someone he didn't let anyone else see.

But he had seen the real Sawyer-James, if that was appropriate-more and more often as they'd gotten to know one another. He wished that Sawyer could somehow know the real Jack too.

"That night…when you…on the bridge. I _was_ going to jump. I-"

A strange ring went off behind his head, and Jack suddenly jumped forward, spilling most of his drink on the floor and staring around frantically. "What the hell was that?"

Sawyer gave him a weird look, "Take it easy there, Shakes. It's just the damn phone."

The phone rang again, and this time Jack recognized it. With a sigh he went to pick it up, heard Sawyer mumbling, "Maybe we really oughta' run ta' the liquor store…"

"No. It's fine."

Jack held the receiver in a sweating palm and hit the TALK button with a damp thumb, "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Doctor Shephard." The voice on the other line was dark and thick, with a slight British accent.

"Who is this?"

"We met in the parking lot on Friday, remember."

Jack's eyes widened, and he spoke out loud, mostly so Sawyer would know who it was, "Eric Hawkins?"

A brief laugh, "So you remember me. That's good."

Jack looked at Sawyer.

The con artist shook his head, eyes dark with warning.

Nodding, Jack said, "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Hawkins?"

"To be frank, Doctor, I've been having some trouble locating our mutual friend, Mr. Sawyer, as I said before. Now I know you claim to have not seen him in years, but please don't give me that runaround again, Mr. Shephard."

"I don't understand. I-"

"Come now, are you really going to lie to me, Jack? I know you met with Mr. Sawyer not four nights ago, in a pub, not far from your house."

For a moment Jack's mind went totally blank and he even lost his breath. "What? How-"

"An associate of mine was there: he saw you two together. So I have an eye-witness-a man who I trust, Mr. Shephard- who claims to have seen you with Mr. Sawyer, just a few days ago. Please spare me the deceit."

Jack sighed and rubbed his head, feeling suddenly agitated, "What is it you want from Sawyer?"

"That's a private matter, between me and him."

"Well I'm not telling you anything until I know what you want. Got that?"  
"I assume then that you know where he is."

"_What_ do you _want_ from him?"

"Well, I can see you're going to be terribly American about this, Mr. Shephard. Very well. In that case, pass along this message for me."

Jack waited a moment, and when he heard nothing he thought maybe the connection had been lost. Sawyer was looking at him intently, so he shrugged.

"When you see Mr. Sawyer again, tell him that I want my money-all of it-by Tuesday morning. I want him to meet me on Long Beach, between nine and ten A.M. I'm a very powerful man, Mr. Shephard, as James well knows, and if he does _not_ deliver my money by Tuesday morning, I _will_ find him myself. Even if I have to search the whole United States. Make sure he understands that I do not appreciate being stolen from."

"What are you going to do to him?" Jack demanded. "When he brings you the money, what are you-"

"I'm afraid that has nothing to do with you, Mr. Shephard. Simply pass my message along and don't lose any sleep tonight." Jack could practically see the sharky grin on Hawkins face as he said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Shephard." And hung up.

Slowly, Jack disconnected the phone, stood there for a long time, thinking, considering all the unspoken threats in Hawkin's voice, all the insinuations there that he hadn't been able to guess the meaning of. Only one thing was clear to him: Eric D. Hawkins, whoever he was, was an extremely powerful man, cold and cruel, existing only for the delight of money. And Sawyer had stolen from him.

"Well? What'd he say?" The con artist was hovering over his shoulder, blue eyes gleaming with the familiar nervousness Jack had grown accustomed to when they'd been on the island. But he'd never felt so strong a desire to put the fear to rest as he did now. Maybe that was because Sawyer was counting on him.

Still, the detox process was making him irate, and he couldn't help snapping, "Why did you do this, Sawyer? Do you have any idea who you even stole from? That guy wants his money back, day after tomorrow, and I don't know what he's going to do to you when you take it back to him, but it can't be much better than what he'll do if you _don't_ take it."

He slammed the phone down and rubbed the sides of his head.

Sawyer snorted, "I'm touched by your concern, Doc, but ya' ain't answered my question. What'd the old son of a bitch say?"

"He said he wants all of his money by Tuesday morning, and if he doesn't get it he's going to hunt you down, and there will be unspoken consequences. He said to make sure you understand he 'doesn't appreciate being stolen from.'"

Sawyer looked more interested than anything, "Unspoken consequences? Did he _really_ say that?"

More annoyed than anything, Jack barked, "What is wrong with you, Sawyer? Didn't you hear anything I just said? That guy has got it out for you!"

The con artist shrugged and looked away, "I told ya' that already. What can I do though? I just gotta' take the money ta' him."

Jack shook his head, "No. You can't." If Hawkins chilling voice was any indication of the fate that awaited Sawyer-whether or not he took the money to him-Jack didn't doubt that it was going to be gruesome. "That guy's going to kill you no matter what you do."

"Hell." Sawyer snorted and flopped into a chair, hooking one leg over the arm rest and taking a swig of whiskey, "Don'tcha' think I been in tighter spots than this one, Jack?"

The doctor looked at him steadily, "Have you?"

Sawyer rolled his eyes, "Oh no. Being shoved into a little bear cage, trekking through the wild jungle with an infected bullet wound? That was just a little jog through the park compared ta' this."

Jack couldn't laugh. He sat down too, drying his sweaty palms on his jeans, "All right, all right, we've just got to think. If we just think about it for a while I'm sure we'll come up with something. Let's start with what we know."

The con artist raised his eyebrows, as if to say 'whatever ya' say, Doc,' "Alrighty then. I conned a boss man from a crime syndicate, he chased me here, now he wants his four hundred Gs back."

Jack jerked to his feet, his mouth falling open, "You stole four hundred _thousand_ from that guy?"

"Sure did, Jonny. Was a helluva con." He grinned.

"You idiot! How did you think you were ever going to get out of this?"

"Gettin' out is half the fun." He just kept right on grinning. "Guess all I can do is take it on back ta' him."

"He's going to kill you if give it back!"

"What'dya' think he's gonna' do if I _don't_ take it back?"

"Sawyer!"

"Let's just stick ta' what we know, Doc, alright?" Sawyer seemed someone annoyed now. "He _might_ kill me. We don't know that. We oughta' get our facts straight first. Facts an' details. Where's he want me takin' his money ta'?"

"Uh," Jack ran a shaking hand over the top of his head, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. "Long Beach."

"Fine then. I just hop on down ta' Long Beach an' hand over my little bag here." he patted the travel bag like it was a pet.

"While I sit here and hope to God he doesn't kill you?"

"Can't see much else use for ya'."

Jack shook his head, asked quietly, "Did you know? When you stole from him?"

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know he was going to hunt you down?"

Sawyer mulled that over for a few seconds, drinking more whiskey, "Didn't _know-_know. But…some of 'em hunt, an' some of 'em just ain't vengeful enough. So no. Guess not. Had a pretty good idea though." The con artist got up suddenly, setting the whiskey down within Jack's reach, "Look, Doc, ya' gave it your best shot, alright? I didn't really think ya' could bail me outta' this one. I'm in a lotta' trouble, an' I know it." He sighed, "I just gotta' do what I gotta' do."

On Monday night, Jack lay in bed for the better half of the night, tossing and turning. He hadn't had a drink at all that day, even though he'd been given plenty of opportunities to. There was enough whiskey left for a couple glasses, and Sawyer had even driven himself over to the liquor store to buy a six pack of beer, saying as he did so, that he sort of regretted pouring all the booze down the drain. If Jack didn't know any better he would have thought Sawyer was purposefully trying to put Jack in a situation where he could drink.

And hell, the temptation had been huge. With the beer just sitting there in the fridge, icy cold and unguarded, it would have been easy to pop one open, but Jack had refrained. That was getting slowly easier, refraining. As much as he wanted to drink, as pathetic as he felt and as sure he was that the liquor would make it easier, he knew he had to deny himself that craving. For Sawyer's sake. For the first time in three years he was getting the chance to be the same leader and protector that he'd been on the island. It was like he was getting to start all over, and if he just had some self control maybe he could break the habit all together.

Now, with Tuesday morning, and Sawyer's rendezvous with Hawkins just a few hours away, Jack felt the need to drink, attacking him like an animal, throttling him with almost tangible hands. It took every bit of will-power he had to keep from getting up and going downstairs to finish off the whiskey or crack open a beer. He had to remember what he was doing this for.

His detox symptoms were even worse. He knew he was still shaking-he could feel it when he lay very still-and he was tired, and yet unable to sleep. He couldn't eat, and he'd thrown up several times throughout the course of the day. His thoughts were cloudy, and the few times he'd dozed off he'd been awoken by nightmarish dreams.

One thing that constantly occupied his mind was that Sawyer was going to go down there, tomorrow, alone, with just that bag of money, and hand it over to some maniac who would probably put a bullet in his ear either way. If only there was some way to prevent that. Jack's mind had been working on that ever since Sunday afternoon. There had to be a way to get Hawkins' money back to him without Sawyer getting pumped full of lead.

Now there was the very beginning of an idea forming in his mind, but it wasn't something he could do all by himself. And it wasn't even a very good plan, since it involved putting someone he loved very much in danger.

When it was almost three in the morning, Jack got up and put on his jeans and shoes, then slipped on a jacket, crept downstairs as quietly as he could. When he opened the front door he was surprised to discover that it was raining—his thoughts had been so intense that he hadn't even noticed the patter of rain on the roof.

Regardless, he snuck out to his Bronco, and got in, shutting the door quietly. Then he started it up, hoping the rain would disguise the noise of the engine, and drove away.

He went the thirty-minute drive to Kate's house, nervousness building in his chest the whole way. It had been months since he'd seen her, and the last time they _had _spoken the circumstances had been bad ones. He doubted that she wanted to see him ever again. But he had to try. If he had had any idea where Sayid was he would have asked him for help, but Sayid hadn't been heard from in years, and Hurley was in the mental institute, and there was no one else he could think of that would be willing to help Sawyer in the first place.

So it was up to him and Kate.

He went up to the door, the tension in his heart so pressurized he was sure his chest was going to burst. It was rude to show up like this, in the middle of the night, but hopefully, if Kate cared about Sawyer, she would understand.

He knocked firmly, but not loudly, and then waited. For a long time there was no answer. So he knocked again. Still nothing.

He was just about to knock a third time when the door popped open, and Kate was standing there: her green eyes were on fire and she was dressed in her pajamas. Her hair was down. In the light of the dim streetlights, under the rainy sky, she looked beautiful. Just another one of those things that made him want to go back to the island.

"Hi." Jack smiled feebly. At least he was sober. She had to be able to see that. Maybe she would let him come in out of the rain if she knew he was sober.

"What do you want, Jack?"

It was clear she was confused: not only was he sober, the beard was gone. But he was showing up in the middle of the night, like a drunk man would. He probably would have been confused too.

"Um, listen, Kate, I'm sure that I'm the last person you want to see right now. You're probably really mad at me, but I just need to talk to you about something."

"Jack, if this is about you and me, I was clear last time. I don't-"

"It's not." He said quickly, leaning in a little, lowering his voice, "it's about Sawyer."

She was trying to hide it, but he could see how the words made her heart skip, the fear they invoked, "Why? What's wrong? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. For now. But…can I just come in. I'll explain everything."

Kate didn't move; her wide eyes betrayed how reluctant she was to let Jack back inside.

"Kate, please. He's in danger."

She drew a weighty breath, obviously not totally convinced, but at last she stepped out of the way, allowing him inside.

Jack smiled, "Thanks, Kate."

"He didn't like it, did he?" Kate asked, looking through the binoculars.

"Nope. Not at all."

"Did he throw a fit?" She could barely suppress a smile as she thought about Sawyer storming around the room and cursing up a storm.

"Not a fit exactly, but he made it really obvious how annoyed he was." Jack grinned at her.

He looked good now—a lot better. With the beard shaved and the fogginess out of his eyes he looked more like old Jack and less like that senseless drunk who had broken her heart.

Kate thought about the conversation they'd had last night.

She'd brought Jack some coffee, "What do you mean Sawyer's in danger?"

He had thanked her and brought the mug to his lips immediately, and she'd seen his hands were shaking. And still it had been clear that he wasn't drunk or high on anything. She could only wonder at that, "He conned a man—some kind of…boss I guess, for a crime syndicate. Now that guy wants his money back."

"And he's going to hurt him?" She hadn't even tried to hide her feelings for Sawyer, the way she once had.

"He didn't say that he would…but he didn't say that he wouldn't."

"But you think he will?"

Jack had nodded, "That was the idea I got. Sawyer's not taking it very seriously-"

"What else is new?"

"-But I'm the one who talked to this guy, and I could tell he was angry. I wouldn't be surprised if he shot Sawyer just for vengeance sake after he gives him the money."

So Jack had convinced her to help, convinced her that the only way to save Sawyer's life would be if Jack made the drop himself. And now here they were, waiting for Hawkins to show, Sawyer hiding in a clump of brush not far away, gun ready. Just in case.

"You should have stayed home, Kate." Jack said, taking a drink from his Starbucks cup.

"You're the one who got me involved." She reminded him.

"I didn't get you involved so you could come out here and put your life on the line-we don't know who this guy is or what he's capable of-I got you involved so that you could keep Sawyer from interfering when I came down here to do this."

"Do you think he _will _try to interfere?" She looked through the binoculars again. It was a pretty morning: the sunlight was a liquid, golden color, and the sky was brilliant blue. Flowers were in full bloom, birds singing, brought to life by last night's rain.

"I don't know now. He really didn't want us doing this. Especially you." Jack looked at her sincerely.

She tried to ignore his concern for her. Any concern either he or Sawyer showed for her now only hurt, reminding her of all that she'd lost and the things that she couldn't ever have. Kate was tired of trying to choose between them, tired of trying to sort through who was best for her and who she loved more, and who loved her back. They had both succeeded in breaking her heart, and she knew that she had broken both of their hearts, at least once. It was like a merry-go-round that was never going to stop.

At the moment though, love and war aside, the primary concern was for Sawyer. Normally he was strong enough to handle things like this alone, but Jack seemed convinced that the con artist couldn't talk his way out of this one. She could only assume he felt that way because he'd been the one who'd had the conversation with Hawkins, and Sawyer hadn't.

Kate lowered her eyes, not wanting Jack to guess the reason behind her question, "Do you think…he'll ever stop doing this?"

"What? Conning people?"

She nodded, but just barely. It scared her to think that Sawyer might do this for the rest of his life, and that that life might be considerably short because of it. When they'd gotten off the island and he'd told her he wanted to start over-with her-she had hoped that would mean he was going to change his life.

Instead, he'd disappeared for three years, with barely a word. And she still didn't have any idea why.

She had changed _her_ life-altered it completely-quit running, and she had held to the hope that Sawyer would be willing to change too. But he had let her down. And then Jack had let her down when he'd broken all to pieces. The same way her mother had. The same way everyone always had.

And people wondered why she was so independent.

"I don't know," Jack said, "maybe after this…"

Kate studied Jack, long and hard. After Sawyer had gone away, the doctor had been all she had, her last chance at a good life.

At least, she thought, he hadn't walked out on her.

So why was she still so drawn to Sawyer? Why was she so in love with him, even when it was clear he wasn't going to change or stick around? Even after three years, when she'd told herself she didn't care, her heart had skipped a beat the moment he'd shown up on her door, smiling that obnoxious, adorable grin.

She looked at Jack out of the corner of her eye. _I can't have them both._

Jack caught her gaze, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her eyes ventured to the clump of trees a few hundred yards away where Sawyer was. "He has a gun, right?"

The doctor nodded.

That was good. They both knew Sawyer was accustomed to holding and firing a weapon, so if something went wrong, he could cover them.

"Here comes a car." Jack murmured, interrupting her thoughts.

A small, black sedan was coming around the corner, just as she looked up, chassis gleaming in the sunlight, as if freshly waxed.

Kate thought about the telephone conversation she'd had with Sawyer. It had crossed her mind that this was some complex scheme to get rid of Jack so that he could have her all to himself. And that was partly why she was there. Hopefully, if Sawyer did intend to hurt Jack, she could intervene. She wasn't going to let them kill each other over her.

Still, it was hard to imagine. Even if they hadn't been good friends on the island, she had a hard time picturing the con artist doing anything to actually hurt Jack.

"Do you think that's him?"

Jack shrugged, "This is the spot. It's pretty secluded—I can't imagine anyone else showing up this early."

Kate watched the other car park a few yards away, and two men got out: the first, a big black man in a tuxedo, came around and opened the rear, passenger side door, letting out a man with slightly graying hair.

"That's him." Jack murmured.

"All right. Let's do this."

The doctor opened the car door; she grabbed his arm before he could get too far away, "Hey, Jack…"

He looked at her questioningly.

She started to say five different things at once, some questions, some statements, but at last, all she could manage was, "It's nice to see you."

Jack smiled, "You too Kate."

Then, the moment of tenderness washed away by the sense of duty within her, Kate got out; Jack retrieved the money from the back of his Bronco and handed it to her, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Nodding, she took the bag. "If something goes wrong I know you two will cover me." She could always rely on that at least. As long as they were both in love with her, they were always going to protect her. And probably each other as well.

"All right." He sounded reluctant, slid a pair of sunglasses onto his face.

Setting her jaw firmly, Kate walked across the parking lot, careful not to look at the spot where Sawyer was concealed. The black top was already getting hot from the sun, and her shoes clicked on it rhythmatically. She took a deep breath and counted to five mentally, driving back all the fear, reminding herself why she had to do this.

The man standing in front of her was tall and thin for his age-a good twenty or thirty years older than either Sawyer or Jack-and even though he was smiling, there was something notably cold about him. His eyes seemed pale in the morning light. And when he spoke, she suddenly knew why Jack was so certain that the man would kill Sawyer regardless of what became of the money: his was a voice laced with cruelty and murder. "Well, well, well, what have we here? You must be Mr. Sawyer's business associate."

Kate took his open hand and shook it firmly, but his grip was harsh and terrifying.

Hawkins smiled past her at Jack, "Good morning, Dr. Shephard."

Jack just nodded.

"So tell me, Darling," Hawkins looked down at her, and Kate's flesh crawled, "why didn't James come himself?"

By this time, her heart was beating so quickly she could hardly speak, but she'd learned to lie well since killing Wayne, and a lie came easily to her lips. She spoke with a calm, temperate voice, "Mr. Ford is extremely busy." It was extremely hard to suppress a nervous laugh after that: picturing Sawyer as a swamped businessman was not easy.

"Ripping someone else off, I imagine." Hawkins muttered. "Take care he doesn't rip _you_ off, Darling."

As if he hadn't spoken, she went on, "He said you should be satisfied as long as you got your money."

"James knows the agreement," Hawkins said casually, but Kate wasn't sure how to interpret his words. He took the bag in one hand and suddenly clenched her wrist in the other. It was cold, and she couldn't help gasping. He leaned down close to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack take a step forward.

"Is this all, Love? Feels rather light."

"All? What do you mean? Let me go."

"All four hundred grand. Is it all here?"

"I don't know," Kate stuttered, "I didn't check it. Mr. Ford just told me to make the drop. He…"

Growling a little, Hawkins turned away, setting the bag on the hood and unzipping it. "It had better all be here, you cocky, little red neck." He muttered under his breath, as he began to count it.

Kate cast an uncertain glance at Jack, who shook his head, and then up to where Sawyer was. Of course, he didn't respond in any way.

Hawkins zipped the bag back up, looking stiff, and when he turned around there was an angry look in his eyes, and his teeth appeared sharp, "What kind of fool does he think I am?"

"I-I don't know anything about it. Sawyer just said to-"

Hawkins gripped her by the arm, shaking her a little.

"Hey!" Jack came toward them.

"You tell _Mr._ Sawyer I won't be so easily deterred. We made a deal, he and I, and I will not be cheated: even if it's what he does best, I refuse to allow that bastard to cheat me."

"Let her go!" Jack was even closer now, his mouth frowning fiercely.

Hawkins suddenly shoved her back into him, and they both stumbled, struggling to stay upright, "You two had better listen to me and mark my words, do you understand? James owes me four-hundred thousand dollars, and I expect to get the rest of it. Tell him that I _want_ the other two-hundred grand before the week is out. If he wants to call off our agreement that's up to him, but I will _not_ be stolen from by an illiterate, inbred punk who didn't even complete high school." His eyes were stony hard. "Make that _very _clear."

"What agreement?" Jack demanded. "What kind of agreement did you make with him?"

"My dear boy," Hawkins was busily transferring the money into a slick, black suitcase with shiny, brass snaps, "that has entirely nothing to do with you." He shoved the travel bag back into Kate's arms a little roughly. "You simply deliver my message—James knows what will happen if he tries to cheat me."

The man snapped the briefcase shut deftly and picked it up, thrusting it into the arms of his bodyguard, who immediately opened the door for him, stuffing the briefcase inside; and then he nodded to them, "I bid you both a good day; and if I may offer a word of advice, get away from James "Sawyer" Ford as soon as you possibly can. He is not a man who can be trusted. Not even by his friends."

With that, he ducked back into the car, the door was slammed shut, and the black sedan pulled away, engine purring like a cat.

Kate sighed and leaned against Jack, grateful for his strength and his support. "Jack…what in the world was that all about?"

"Maybe we'd better ask _him_."

She glanced up to see Sawyer emerging from the bushes, jamming his nine-millimeter into the back of his jeans as he did. The look on his face was tense, and even slightly angry, but he covered it up quickly, so that the disdainful scowl became a frivolous smirk.

"Well, boys an' girls, how'd ya'll do?"

Jack let go of Kate, a little too quickly, "You know damn well how it went, Sawyer—where's the rest of the money?"

"'Scuse me?"

"The money, Sawyer," Jack was right in his face now, and Kate felt a leap of fear at the thought that they might get into a fight, "the rest of the money."

"Oh, the money," Sawyer cocked his head to the side, sly look dominating his features.

"He said you still owe him two-hundred grand." Kate said, feeling a little angry herself. "Why wasn't it in this bag?" She tossed the travel bag at him, and Sawyer caught it lazily.

"Simple. Ain't in the bag with the rest, 'cause I ain't got it."

"What?"

"What do you mean you don't have it? Where is it?"

"In the bank, back in Las Vegas. Ya'll didn't think I was dumb enough ta' go walkin' 'cross the country with almost a half-million dollars in my backpack, did ya'."

Jack turned away, massaging his head, "This was all…just for nothing? Sawyer, what part of that man will _kill_ you do you _not_ understand?"

"Easy there, Doc. I heard good ol' Jimmy boy extend my deadline ta' the end of the week. I'll have the money by then."

"Well you'd better! Because if you don't…" Jack shook his head, his eyes straying away, "Then I don't think we can help you, Sawyer."

Sawyer looked at him calmly, for just a second, then smiled, "Save your worries for later, Doc." His gaze drifted to Kate, and even though the smile only grew when their eyes locked, she could see that he was deeply, horribly sad about something.

Sawyer glanced back and forth across the street before walking across, hands deep in his pockets, head tilted down against the rain; a car raced by just as he stepped onto the side walk, going through a puddle and spraying him with water. "Son of a bitch!" Sawyer gave him the finger, and kept going, another half-block down the street. He reached the payphone at last and got out the business card Jack had given him, dialed the number quickly.

It rang once and a woman's voice answered.

"Gime' Hawkins." Sawyer said gruffly, "Tell 'im it's Sawyer."

"Just a moment, please, Mr. Sawyer."

Calming music drifted over the phone line, but Sawyer tapped his fingers impatiently on the phone booth, and then nearly jumped when the British accent said, "James. How good of you to call. I suppose this is about our business agreement."

Sawyer sighed; he could easily understand why Jack was so concerned for his safety. Hawkins had a way of making everything he said sound dangerous. "Yeah."

"I was beginning to worry, you know? After all, when a man simply leaves everything he owns and walks away it's no small matter."

"Cut your fancy talk; I know ya' just want your money."

"Indeed. My money, James. I expected to get it back yesterday morning; I still can't understand why I didn't."

"'Cause I ain't been carryin' it with me all this time."

"My, my, you're an awfully bright to have attempted stealing four hundred thousand dollars from me. Where is it?"

"The other half's in the bank. I gotta' transfer it."

"You have until the end of the week—of course, I'm being merciful James. I've killed greater men for lesser deeds."

Sawyer smiled, in spite of the shiver that was running up his spine; "Ya' ain't gonna' kill me though, Jimbo."

"Well I certainly hope I won't have to. Where are you calling from? Felice said the number was unknown."

"What's it matter?"  
"It matters a great deal—I'd simply like to know where you are."

"I'm at a pay phone." Sawyer said tersely, "Let's just stick ta' business, alright?"

There was a moment of silence and he heard shapeless voices on the other line, then Hawkins said without any ado, "You will transfer the money from Las Vegas, and then you will withdraw it, all in large bills. On Friday, you will meet me at Los Angeles International Airport and drop it off—in person. And you're getting on that plane, James. Do I make myself clear?"

"That all?" Sawyer drawled.

"No. As a matter of fact, it isn't." There was another painstakingly long pause, and then "Tell me something, James, who was that woman you sent? At first I thought she was a business associate of yours, but when she said your name, there was something in her eyes. Something intimate."

The words awoke a great, deathless fire deep inside of Sawyer, "Just leave her outta' this, Eric."

"Oh, I see," Hawkins laughed chillingly, "you're conning her."

"I ain't connin' nobody."

The next words he heard made him feel utterly hopeless.

"My dear boy, you are _always_ conning someone. I dare say, you can never stop—it was what you were _born_ to do."


	6. Safe In My Arms

6. Safe in My Arms

_Clouds will rage and_

_Storms will race and_

_But you will be safe_

_In my arms_

_Rains will pour down_

_Waves will crash around_

_But you will be safe_

_In my arms_

_--Plumb_

He was soaking wet when he got back to Jack's house: his hair hung down in heavy, dark tendrils, water dripped off his skin, his clothes were damp and his hands and feet were cold. Sawyer stepped inside, shaking some rain out of his hair, hesitated in the foyer. The TV was on, turned to the news. He walked into the living room, moving cautiously, hand on the gun that was still in his jeans.

Jack was lying there, staring blankly at the TV screen. He hadn't even heard Sawyer come in.

"What the hell?"

The doctor looked up, jumping slightly, like he was startled.

"Why aren't ya' at work?"

"Oh. I…" Jack toyed with the empty glass on the coffee table, "I got suspended."

"Suspended?" Sawyer frowned. "For drinkin'?"

"No, I," Jack's voice was very quiet, "I did something. I made a mistake."

Sawyer tried to ignore the uncertainty and panic that incited, "Didn't know ya' made mistakes, Doc. What was it?"

"I," Jack sighed and rested his forehead on his fist, "I had this patient. A girl. I prescribed the wrong medication to her."

The con artist shot him a startled look, "You're serious?"

"It wasn't life-threatening or anything, but it was _still_ a mistake. They're suing me. The board of directors decided I should…take some time off."

"'Cause of the drinkin'."

"Because of the substance abuse."

"Shit, man," Sawyer sat down beside him, careful to keep some distance between them, his mind raced for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say. He'd never been good about comforting people. "d'ya' wanna'…talk about it?"

"What's to talk about? I got suspended because I'm not fit to be a doctor."

Sawyer looked at him for a moment, and then turned his attention to the TV, "I don't think that's true." He muttered.

Jack turned to him. "I-"

"Look, you ran all over that island savin' ev'rybody that had a splinter in their finger. Ya' saved people that shoulda' died." Sawyer rubbed his shoulder reflectively. It still ached sometimes, depending on the climate and the weather, "how can ya' _not_ be fit ta' be a doctor?"

"You said it yourself—I'm different than I was back then." Jack's voice sounded strange. Maybe he thought it was weird that Sawyer of all people was consoling him. Hell. Even Sawyer knew it was weird.

"I also said ya' still got the right stuff in ya' ta' be the same."

Jack nodded thoughtfully.

"So cheer up, Skippy."

When the doctor didn't say anything, Sawyer managed to ask, "That's what ya' were gonna' jump for, ain't it?"

"That was the day."

"Didja' think dyin' would fix it up pretty or somethin'?"

"My whole life's coming apart." Jack choked.

Sawyer tried not to let that touch him, but he couldn't help it. He fought the sympathy for several minutes, kicking it back vehemently, shoving it down, but it was no use. He did feel sympathetic towards Jack. Unable to stop himself, he rested one hand on Jack's shoulder, bit the inside of his cheek, "It's gonna' get better, Doc."

The doctor looked up at him, visibly startled, and still, he could see that he was comforted by the words.

"This ain't nothin' compared ta' _some_ stuff."

Several minutes passed and they both just sat there, looking one another in the eye, finding common ground, consoled by the differences that separated them.

"Yeah," Jack said at last, "I just wish I had a job."

The con artist thought that over. Jack hadn't had much to drink for the last four days, and as far as he knew he hadn't been popping his pills either—he was out. Sawyer was watching him go through the withdrawal symptoms: the nervousness, the nausea and the irritation. It all pointed to the fact that he was breaking an addiction. But he guessed the hospital couldn't waste time considering that, especially if there was a malpractice suit in the making.

"They think you're gonna' get clean if they kick ya' out for a while?"

Jack shrugged.

"Maybe they think you'll give Doctor Phil a call and get tossed inta' La Hacienda."

The doctor cracked a hollow grin. "Maybe I should." He looked up at Sawyer, "Where were you?"

"Just now?"

Jack nodded.

"Had ta' call the bank 'bout the transfer."

"I've got a phone here, you know. You could have used it."

Not answering, Sawyer got up and paced back to the kitchen, thinking about what Hawkins had said. About being born to con people For some reason that was very depressing. "Guess it ain't somethin' they can arrange over the phone. I'm gonna' have ta' run over ta' the bank myself."

"You really think that's a good idea?" Jack got up and followed him.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

The doctor scoffed in disbelief, "C'mon, Sawyer."

"I took a walk down ta' the corner, Jack. There ain't anybody watchin' the house."

"You aren't taking this seriously enough." Jack shook his head. "Hawkins was really mad when he didn't get all of his money."

"But he don't know where I am—he ain't watchin' ya'." Sawyer looked out the window. It was raining harder, and he didn't want to go out in that. Didn't matter so much what he wanted. It never had. "So how 'bout it?"

"How about what?"

"Gonna' leme' borrow your car or do I have ta' thumb my way ta' the bank?"

With a faint, little sigh, Jack went to the closet and got out his own jacket.

Sawyer leaned against the wall, watching him, "What'dya' doin', Doc?"

"You're not going by yourself." Jack replied firmly.

"If ya' don't wanna' be here alone, just say so." Sawyer smirked, but he didn't feel the satisfaction he usually got from teasing Jack. He felt…empty. And even a little guilty. He wished he hadn't come to LA.

"Let's go." Jack headed for the door, grabbing his car keys off the counter as he went.

Sawyer ducked out the door after him.

The rain was pouring down hard, battering against the side of the Bronco, and the streams of water poured down the windshield. Jack turned on the windshield wipers and drove carefully, easing his way around every corner.

"Easy there, Doc, wouldn't wanna' tip it." Sawyer drawled teasingly.

"No. I wouldn't."

The con artist was quiet and he watched the lightning crackle in the sky, pale purple. "What'd ya' get Freckles involved in all this for?"

Jack looked at him for a split second, and then focused on the road again, easing on the brakes as they pulled up to a red light.

"Was it just for old times sake?"

"I just wanted someone there to watch my back."

"Didja' think _I _wouldn't watch it." Sawyer grinned bitterly. He knew very well what the answer to that was.

"Just not used to you doing that, I guess."

There was nothing to say to that: people who only lived for themselves usually couldn't watch other people's backs. So what did he think he was doing now? Getting involved with all of Jack's stupid problems?

"She looked good." He murmured vaguely.

Jack nodded, "Yeah. She did."

"Was prob'ly happy ta' see your beard off, huh?"

"She didn't say."

"Did she know ya' were sober?"

"She didn't say that either."

Both of them were quiet for a minute as Jack wound his way through a 'round a bout.

At length, the doctor sighed, then said softly, "She still loves you…you know?"

Sawyer turned his head quickly to stare at the doctor, "What're ya' talkin' about?"

"Kate…she still…she was really worried when I told her about this. I think she's been waiting for you…these last three years."

The con artist tried to sound flippant and daring, but he felt like he couldn't. Not when they were discussing Kate. "We gonna' start talkin' 'bout our little problem now, Doc?"

It had been an elephant in the room for a long time. The fact that they both loved her. And yet they never talked about it, and Sawyer knew why.

"It's better than pretending there isn't a problem. How are we ever going to resolve this if we don't talk about it?"

Sawyer stared out the window at the falling rain, said very quietly, "I don't know."

When Jack didn't have anything to say to that, Sawyer spoke again, "Ya' said ya' think she's been waitin' for me?"

"Yeah. I do. She…just…"

"What makes ya' think she wasn't just waiting for _you_ ta' make a move, Doc? Hell, she didn't even know if I was comin' back. Ever."

Jack pulled up at a stop sign and sat there a few extra minutes, just looking at the con artist. Sawyer could see that he was confused. "Don't you…want her?"

With a sigh, Sawyer leaned his forehead against his fist, "'Course I want her. And so do you."

"Then she's going to have to pick." Jack decided, rolling forward again.

"No." Sawyer shook his head, "We can't make her do that, Doc. It ain't fair."

"Well then what the hell should we do, Sawyer?" Jack demanded loudly, "You don't want to force her to choose, we both love her—I'm out of ideas!"

Sawyer smiled slowly, "Guess we're gonna' hafta' duke it out one'a these days, huh, Chief?"

Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably, "You and me? Beating the crap out of each other?" He smiled fakely.

"I know. Sounds like a damn soap opera." Sawyer saw a building emerge ahead of them in the rain and mist. "There's the bank."

The doctor pulled into parking lot. The bank looked like a desolate, gray building, with a dim, yellow light coming through the windows, the lot was mostly empty; a mother carrying a red umbrella led her young daughter by the hand up to the door. Sawyer thought about Kate and Aaron, and then about Cassidy and Clementine, wishing he were different. Wishing he were good enough.

"Wait here." He told Jack, and then got out, adjusting his collar. He walked quickly up to the door and swung it open. Inside was plain and quiet. A teller smiled at him from behind the counter, but he ignored her and took the first left he came to, walked until he found the restroom, glad to see that it was empty.

Sawyer stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, at the ragged, blonde hair that was dripping from rain, and the calculating, blue eyes that had led so many unsuspecting women to ruin.

…_you are always conning someone…you can never stop—it was what you were born to do._

Sawyer leaned back against the wall and slid to the dirty bathroom floor, pressed his forehead against his knees, "Dammit. Dammit, Freckles."

"It'll be here tomorrow afternoon." Sawyer told Jack when he got back in the car.

"Thursday."

"Right."

"And Hawkins wants it by Friday. How are you going to figure out where to meet him this time?"

"Called him earlier," Sawyer admitted as they began to move again, "he wants me ta' take it ta' him on Friday afternoon."

Jack stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that, Sawyer?"

The doc seemed to be getting back into his leadership role, expecting to call all the shots and make all the decisions.

"Didn't tell him where I was, just said I'd meet him Friday."

"Well are you?"

"No, I just thought it'd be fun ta' mess with his head before he hunts me down and shoots me." Sawyer said sarcastically.

"Did you forget this guy wants to kill you?"

Sawyer just smiled.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin'."

Jack was quiet for a few minutes, probably trying to think of a plan, "I'll do it. Like last time. Without Kate this time."

"Jack," Sawyer sighed. He felt emptier than ever, "I gotta' do it this time. He wants me ta' deliver it in person."

"Do you _want_ to die?" Jack looked at him seriously.

"Naw." Sawyer leaned his head back against the seat. "Not yet. But… some day."

Kate got a text from Jack at one thirty in the morning: 'meet me the gas station by your house.'

It was weird for him to text her, so she was worried he was drunk and just didn't want her to know it. She texted back, 'what do u want?'

'just meet me' Was the only answer she got.

She tried calling him a couple of times but he didn't answer, so she got dressed, went to check on Aaron, and then went out to her car. At least the rain had stopped. Now there was just a foggy drizzle that dampened her hair a little.

Kate drove to the gas station and parked in a location where she could see everything, but there was no sign of Jack, or his car. She waited a few minutes, thinking he'd show up soon, but when he still hadn't come after fifteen minutes she got out her phone to text him again.

A tap on her passenger window made her jump and gasp.

The door opened and a man got in.

But it wasn't Jack.

"Sawyer? What are you doing here?"

"Hey there, Freckles. Nice car."

She looked out the window, "Where's Jack?"

"At home in bed, I guess."

"But he sent me a message. He said-"

"That was me."

"You?" She studied his face for a while. Something seemed wrong. Well, not really_ wrong_, but out of place. He looked…sad, even though his mouth was smiling. "What do you want?"

Sawyer sighed and sank down in the seat. He looked out at the city for a few minutes, not meeting her eyes at all, "Just ta' see ya'."

"You shouldn't have come," She scolded, "that guy is looking for you, and you came out here just to talk to me? What if-"

"He ain't gonna' find me, Freckles. Just relax."

"But Sawyer-"

He faced her, and his blue eyes were so full of nameless emotions it actually stopped her, and she suddenly couldn't remember what she'd been meaning to say. "I gotta' take the rest of his money ta' him, got it? Day after tomorrow. And then…" the words seemed like they were hard to form or something, because it took him a little while to finish, "I've gotta' get outta' California."

"What? Run away?"

"Ain't really runnin'. Just somethin' that I hafta' do."

"But why? Why do you _have_ to do anything?"

"'Cause I made a choice."

Kate shook her head, not sure what to say. Nothing was clear. "Why did you want me to meet you here?"

Sawyer leaned forward suddenly; she felt his soft lips brush over hers, stealing a slow kiss. She could feel the longing in his caress. When he pulled away, she felt stunned, and he looked even sadder.

"Sawyer," she touched his face instinctively. His clean-shaven face was smooth and soft. "what's wrong?"

He kissed her again, briefly this time, and then leaned his head against her shoulder, pressing his face to her neck. "Ev'rything. In a good world I'd get ta' keep ya'."

Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, "You don't have to leave, you know? We can help you."

"Eric's a sonnova' bitch," Sawyer murmured, words muffled by her hair, "I dragged you an' the Doc inta' this—I shouldn't've done that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause…if I don't give him the money…I know how he is…if he can't find me…he'll take it out on you guys."

Kate kept silent, listening to him breathe, and inhaling deep gusts of his rugged scents.

"I can't let that happen. No matter what it means for me."

"But Sawyer," she took an unsteady breath, "I saw how mad that guy was yesterday. He was really pissed about not getting all of his money. What if he…" She couldn't bring herself to say 'kills' so she finished lamely, "does something to hurt you?"

"I ain't got time ta' worry 'bout that, Kate. You an' Jack are the only friends I've got—in the whole world. I'd be an idiot ta' let somethin' happen ta' either of ya'."

She took those words to heart. Sawyer was rarely noble or sacrificial-it was unlike him in more than one way-but the way he spoke, the way he promised to protect her, it all made her feel safe and grateful and melancholy and afraid all at once.

Unable to bear those feelings, she dug her fingers into his scalp and pressed her lips against his mouth, putting all of her passion and fear into that one kiss.

Somehow they wound up back at her house. She couldn't remember how or what decision had led them to go there, but she didn't really care either.

Sawyer held her tight in his arms and kicked the door open, walked up the stairs, still kissing her. She already had him out of his jacket by the time they reached the bedroom, hit the bed, falling over it together, pressing against one another. She felt his mouth, hot on her neck, and then on her shoulder. His hand threaded through her hair, fingers getting tangled in it; the other one snaked up her side and cupped her breast. Kate tore his shirt off, pressing her lips to his chest.

Everything after that was a blur. She felt his body pressed up against hers, shuddering in the night, breath raspy and irregular, filling her head. His hands left bruises on her wrists. His teeth left marks on her skin. Everything about the way he moved and felt and touched was familiar and right. Sawyer whispered in her ear, and even though she couldn't understand what he was saying-the euphoria was too overwhelming-his accent mixed with the silky blackness of his smooth, soothing voice was enchanting. The only thing she could see was his blue, sad eyes.

Jack's face came to mind a few times, and she felt sorry. Sorry that she couldn't have one without hurting the other. Sorry that she couldn't have them both.

Some fairy tale this had turned out to be.

So she closed her eyes, allowing the drug induced by Sawyer's lips and hands to totally blot out any pain or sense of unhappiness, letting the love she felt for him flow through her blood like heroin, numbing everything that wasn't ecstasy.

And she held onto him all night long.

In the morning, when Kate opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Sawyer's face: his eyes were closed so lightly they looked like they'd flutter open at any moment, and his lips were slightly parted. He looked young in the early, morning light, curled up beside her, his hair tousled and strewn across the pillow. Like a little boy.

Smiling, she leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.

Then Kate sat up a little to look at the clock. It was almost nine. Aaron was probably up watching cartoons, but he'd be calling for her soon.

She looked down at Sawyer, running one hand through his soft, glossy hair, imagining what it would be like to live with him, to have a child with him. Sawyer thought he'd make a horrible father, but she wasn't so sure. Maybe he wouldn't be perfect for the job, but he could learn.

Jack was the one who'd make a good father: patient and discerning and loving.

Kate wished there were some way she could combine them.

She allowed herself to think back on the pleasure and the love of last night. All the time she'd known Sawyer, all the times she'd lain beside him in the night, he'd never told her he loved her. But he didn't have to. She knew. She could feel it in his touch and hear it in his voice.

Brushing a few stray strands of hair from his face, she thought about the sadness she'd seen trapped in his eyes last night. Did he think he'd never see her again? Maybe he was scared that Eric D. Hawkins was going to kill him tomorrow. Maybe it had to do with Jack. What about the mysterious phone call he'd made to her a few nights ago? Was he going to do something to Jack? So far he hadn't unveiled any intentions to.

A horrible thought struck her: what if he had already done something to Jack? What if he'd done it already, and last night had been his way of apologizing?

Frantically, she grabbed her bedside phone and dialed Jack's number. Sawyer mumbled something and snuggled closer to her, but didn't wake up.

Jack's phone rang so many times she began to panic. "Come on." She whispered.

_He's probably just at work._ She reassured herself.

Then, just when she was about to hang up and call the hospital, he answered, sounding somewhat unnerved himself.

"Hello?"

Kate let out a sigh of relief, "Hey. It's me."

"Kate?"

"Yeah. Are you all right?"

He hesitated for a moment, and she heard him breathing.

"I'm fine. But Sawyer…"

"What?" The panic was back. She looked at Sawyer: he was still sleeping peacefully. "What about him?"

"I-" a frustratingly long interruption. "I can't find him."

Kate was so relieved that she almost couldn't answer. Her face got sort of hot as she admitted, "He's with me." Once the words were out she regretted them, knowing they would only hurt Jack, and she closed her eyes, silently taking them back.

"He is? What-why?"

"It's…complicated."

"Tell him he needs to get back here right away." Jack said, unhesitant.

"Is everything okay?"

"I don't have time to explain. Drive him back over here."

"What? I can't. I can't just leave Aaron here! And there's no time to get a babysitter. What's this about? Does it have to do with that guy?"

"Bring Aaron with you." Jack said irritably. "There's no time."

He hung up.

"Jack?" She looked at the receiver, making sure she hadn't just lost the connection. She wasn't used to Jack hanging up on her. "Jack? Are you there?"

The other line was dead.

"Sawyer." She shook the con artist's shoulder. "Come on, wake up."

His eyelids flickered and he gazed up at her, clearly a little confused. His eyes were bluer than normal. "Wha's goin' on?"

"You've got to get up." She was already out of bed, pulling her jeans on. "Jack just called. He said we've got to get back to his place right away."

"Jack…" Sawyer sat up, running a hand back through his hair, but he didn't get up.

"Sawyer! Right now!"

"Alright, Alright, Sarge. I'm up. I'm up." He swung his legs around and put both feet on the floor, stretching his arms as he rose.

Kate threw a shirt on and finished dressing, "Meet me in the car as soon as you get done." Then she rushed downstairs to where Aaron was planted a few feet from the TV, just staring. "Come on, Baby, we've got to go."

"Where're we goin', Mommy?"

"We're going to go see Jack, Sweetie. Won't that be nice?"

He nodded.

Then, as she headed for the door, he said, "Mommy, I'm hungry."

"We'll get something on the way." She promised


	7. Bent

7. Bent

_If I fall along the way_

_Pick me up and dust me off_

_And if I get too tired to make it_

_Be my breath so I can walk_

…_And when my smile gets old and faded_

_Wait around, I'll smile again_

_--Matchbox 20_

Jack paced up and down through the room, his attention balanced between the sound of cars driving by, looking out the window, and glancing at the man who was standing casually in his own kitchen, like he belonged there. Jack would look at his muscular physique, then at the long scar down the left side of the man's cold face, and lastly at the muzzle of the pistol that he could see peeking out from the man's blazer.

Kate had called thirty minutes ago, but still he'd seen no sign of her or Sawyer.

"She should have been here by now." He said, more to himself than to the thug in his kitchen.

Evidently the man thought he was talking to him anyway.

"Relax, Mr. Shephard," he had a gruff accent that Jack couldn't place. It sounded Russian, "there is no hurry. He'll get here when he gets here."

Jack just looked at the man's gun and went back to pacing.

He'd gotten up to go to work this morning, before suddenly remembering that he'd been suspended and wasn't supposed to go back to work until further notice. Then he'd slunk down to sit on the couch, nursing his depression and drinking straight-up orange juice. He hadn't heard from Sawyer all morning, but he hadn't worried. Instead he thought about Kate and how she was. He wondered if she would ever take him back, if she would ever _want_ to take him back when Sawyer was here. She'd always been more drawn to the con artist, and Jack knew it. It seemed that being a good citizen wasn't enough these days.

On the island, he'd been a hero. A celebrity. Here he was a drug-addicted idiot who even _Sawyer_ pitied.

He had been about to put something stronger in his orange juice when there'd been a knock on his door, and naturally he'd gone to answer.

The man had introduced himself as Nathaniel Blackburn, a man in the employment of Mr. Hawkins, and had announced that he was there to speak to 'Mr. Sawyer'.

But when Jack had told him that Sawyer wasn't there, the man had insisted that he be allowed to come in and look for himself.

Reluctantly, Jack had let the man in, telling him that if he would just wait, he could call Sawyer and see if he would come. It had been a way of stalling more than anything. A way to try to remove this stranger from his house before he discovered Sawyer was just upstairs.

But Blackburn had refused to be deterred, and had said he'd search the house himself before going anywhere.

Figuring it was better to just bring Sawyer down himself, Jack had gone up to get the con artist, only to discover him missing.

Fortunately, Kate had called not long after. Jack didn't have time to ponder what Sawyer was doing at her house-he could guess easily enough-and he wasn't sure how to handle the situation either. Mostly he felt like it would be a bad move to bring Sawyer here when there was an employee of the man who wanted to kill him standing in the kitchen, with a gun. But there hadn't been any way to tell Kate to _not_ bring Sawyer either. Not with Blackburn standing right there listening intently.

Now he was kicking himself for telling her to bring Aaron. It had been a solution to a minor problem, that would doubtlessly only introduce a new problem. Jack hoped that he'd be able to protect them all.

Outside he heard a car door. It startled him, and he rushed to the window to look out, saw Kate carrying Aaron across the street, Sawyer looming over both of them, glancing at the car Blackburn had come in. At least he was alert.

Blackburn interrupted his thoughts, "If you are worried about what I'm going to do to your friend, sir, rest assured, I only wish to have a conversation with him."

Right. Like Jack was buying that.

He went to open the door, hoping he could warn them somehow.

"Please, Mr. Shephard, I'll have to ask you to step away from the door."

Jack didn't move, and the man drew his gun.

"Now, Doctor."

Reluctantly, Jack stepped back from the door, staring at it and willing Kate to suddenly remember she had to do something and turn around.

The door burst open; Sawyer came in first, his own gun drawn down. He turned it on Jack for a moment, and then relaxed his arm.

"Hey."

Not answering, Jack jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen.

Sawyer heard the gun cocking and spun around, weapon ready, but then he was staring down the barrel of a pistol.

Jack saw his blue eyes darken with rage and helplessness.

"Sawyer?" Kate's pretty voice drifted through the door, "What's going on?"

"Stay out!" Sawyer shouted at her.

But it was too late; Kate was already inside, holding Aaron's hand tightly in her own. She gasped when she saw the man and snatched her son up.

Blackburn smiled a snake's smile, "Good morning Mr. Ford. Miss." He nodded to Kate.

"Who the hell are you?" Sawyer growled.

"My name is Nathaniel Blackburn." He hadn't lowered his weapon, "And I am a representative of Mr. Hawkins."

Sawyer didn't move a muscle.

"Please, Mr. Ford, let's not have a shoot-out right here in front of the boy. Lower your weapon. Please."

Still the con artist didn't even blink. It was like he was trying to bore holes into Blackburn with his eyes.

"Sawyer," Jack said softly, "put the gun down." It would be horrible if someone-anyone-got shot when Aaron was present.

No reaction.

"Sawyer."

Slowly, the con artist lowered his weapon, snarled "I ain't puttin' it down."

"Very well." Blackburn lowered his own gun. "If it makes you feel safer, by all means, keep it out."

"What'dya' here for, Ruski?"

Blackburn seemed unbothered by the derogatory term, but Jack gave Sawyer a glare for provoking a man with a gun.

"If this's about the money, tell Hawkins I don't got it yet."

"As a matter of fact, it is about the money. Mister Hawkins has urgent business back in Chicago, and he had to move his flight. He will be flying out tonight, and he wants to carry the money onto the plane with him."

Sawyer took a sharp breath, probably fighting to control his anger, "I just told ya', Ivan, I ain't got it with me. I transferred it from Vegas; it's s'posed ta'-"

"It is not my business, Mr. Ford, where the money is or when it will arrive. I have simply been sent to inform you what Mr. Hawkins told me. If you do not have the money now, I suggest you hurry and get it."

"I need more time." Sawyer said, after a stiff moment of silence.

"There will be no more time." Blackburn took a menacing step forward.

The muscles in Jack's shoulders went tight, and he looked back at Kate and Aaron. Kate looked terrified.

"You _will_ bring the money tonight. Or Mr. Hawkins will have your heart by tomorrow morning."

Sawyer didn't move, but Jack could hear that he was breathing heavier than normal. A shiver stole through the doctor.

"Who the hell does that guy think he is?" Sawyer demanded, "He can't just order me ta' bring the money an' expect me ta' have it by-"

Without warning, Blackburn grabbed Sawyer by the collar and swung him around. He was such a big man it looked like a child swinging a doll. He slammed Sawyer against the pantry door with a loud thud, and the con artist wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him. Even as he gasped for breath, he was lifting his gun, but Blackburn reacted quickly, pressing the muzzle of his pistol to Sawyer's forehead.

"Sawyer!" Kate screamed.

Jack started forward but stopped himself, knowing that would be a bad idea.

The Russian sneered at Sawyer, "Drop it."

Sawyer's hand trembled, but he let go of the gun, glaring hatefully up into Blackburn's eyes.

"Now you listen to me," Blackburn said, his face very close to Sawyer's, "Mr. Hawkins has tried to do this the nice way—he tolerated you in Las Vegas. He even overlooked the fact that you ran away, with _his_ money, after the agreement was all drawn up. He compassionately allowed you time to get the money back. And now he has sent me with the message that he needs it by tonight. I am here to warn you, Mr. Ford. It is _his_ money. He trusted you with it and you disappointed him. You are already in trouble quite deep." The big man twisted his fist in Sawyer's collar tight enough that Jack could see that it was cutting off the con artist's air supply.

Sawyer gasped.

"Bring the money tonight, as was arranged for Friday, and he may have mercy on you."

Suddenly, he dropped Sawyer, kicking the con artist once in the ribs, and then bending over to pick up Sawyer's gun.

"I will be holding onto this for now. Perhaps when you come tonight you will get it back." Blackburn smiled and turned away, bowing to Jack and Kate as he went, "Good day to you both. Oh, and Mr. Ford," he turned back to Sawyer, who was struggling to rise, holding his abdomen and panting, "_don't_ try to run away."

With that, he was gone, slamming the front door behind him.

Immediately Jack rushed to Sawyer's side, and Kate knelt on the other side of him, still holding Aaron close.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Sawyer wiped his lips and pushed Jack away.

"What about your ribs. Any of them broken? Hold still a sec."

"I said I'm fine, dammit. Just leme' alone." He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly and rubbing his stomach.

Kate looked up at him, and Jack could see all the fear and worry in her eyes, "What are you going to do?"

"There's nothin' I can do. I gotta' go back to the bank and see if the money order went through."

"But-"

"You heard him," Sawyer snapped at her, "I gotta' get that money ta' Hawkins _tonight_ or else…" his voice trailed away.

Kate started to cry a little.

"Calm down," Jack said. He was breathing pretty roughly himself. "Let's all just calm down. We've got to think this through."

"There ain't nothin' ta' think through, Jack!" Sawyer spat, "It's either get the money or go toes up!"

Jack shook his head. He refused to believe that was the only option. There had to be something else. "You've got to get out of here. Leave California."

"Right. When ya' just heard El Guapo tell me not ta' run away? I don't think that was just a friendly suggestion!"

"Leave the U.S then," Jack urged him, "you've got the Golden Pass. Just get on a plane and go somewhere else: Europe or something. Somewhere he won't look for you."

"He's gonna' look for me no matter where I go, Jack. I got 200 Gs that belong ta' him." Sawyer gave Jack one last look-a cross between helplessness and irritation-then went out the door.

Jack rushed after him, "Kate! Stay here with Aaron!"

He got out to the driveway, just in time to see Sawyer climbing into his Bronco, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I've gotta' borrow your car, Doc." The engine roared to life.

Jack scrambled to get in the passenger side, "Are you crazy? That guy's going to kill you!"

Kate ran out, pulling Aaron by the hand.

"Kate! No!" Jack screamed out the window.

"I'm going with you!"

"No you're not!"

"Freckles, stay here! Take care of your kid!"

She stood there, her face full of despair and worry, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Sawyer!"

Sawyer threw the Bronco into reverse and ripped out of the driveway, spinning the wheel and whipping the car in a ninety-degree angle. The car lurched forward as he sped down the street.

Jack saw Kate running for her little, silver car just before Sawyer flew around the corner.

"Where are we going?" Jack demanded.

"Bank."

"Do you think the money's there?"

"Dunno."

"What if it's not?"

Sawyer shrugged. He got a cigarette out and lit it.

"I thought you quit."

"Yeah, well, I'm startin' again."

Jack stared ahead of them. Sawyer was bearing down on a white Cadillac. At the last second, he passed it, the motion jerking Jack to the side and then back. Another car was coming the other direction, and Sawyer barely got back in the right lane, ahead of the Cadillac, before there was a collision.

When Jack could breathe again, he panted, "Maybe…maybe you should just leave—just go down to Mexico for a while or something."

"He'll find me."

"Then…maybe," Jack shut his eyes tight as Sawyer zipped around another car, "maybe you can borrow the money from me."

"Ya' got 200 thousand bucks, Jack?" Sawyer sneered. It was clear he didn't think the answer would be yes.

"Sawyer," Jack grinned, even though there was nothing funny happening, "I'm a doctor."

"That ain't the answer ta' everything, Jack."

For some reason, that annoyed Jack. "Do you want to borrow the money or don't you?"

"Can't." Sawyer said. "Can't ask ya' ta' do that."

"You're not asking. Just-"

Up ahead a lengthy string of traffic had built up behind a red light.

"Son of a bitch." Sawyer muttered. He jerked the wheel to the right, hopping up onto the sidewalk, nearly creaming a pedestrian, and sped into the right turn lane instead. He turned onto the next street, and then whipped a U-turn so they were going the right direction again.

"Just take the money." Jack breathed. The detox process still wasn't finished, and he was beginning to feel shaky and nauseous.

"Ya' don't get it, Jack! I _can't_ take your money! I've cheated ev'rybody! _Ev'rybody!_ My whole life I been cheatin' people! Takin' whatever I wanted, leavin' a mess behind! I'm a hypocrite, Doc! I don't deserve ta' have any friends, and that's why I never cared that I didn't! But you, and Freckles…" he shook his head, glaring into the rearview mirror and grinding his teeth, "I ain't gonna' cheat ya'."

Jack stared at him, not even sure what all of that had meant. After a moment he demanded, "Why did you do this?"

"Do what?" Sawyer threw an enraged look in his direction.

"Any of this. Why did you con Hawkins? Why did you bring the money here? Why _here_, James?"

"Don't call me that!" Sawyer barked.

"Sawyer! What did you bring the money to LA for?"

"Don't got time ta' explain it all, Jack!"

"You…" Jack tried to put the puzzle pieces together, but nothing was adding up, "you came here…to cheat us?"

Sawyer didn't look at him.

"DID YOU?"

The con artist pounded the gas and sped through a red light. There was a screeching of tires behind them as a car braked to miss broadsiding the Bronco.

"Just told ya' I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"But is that what you came here for?"

Sawyer ignored him and passed an eighteen-wheeler on the wrong side of the road.

"You're driving like a maniac! Pull over and let me drive!"

The con artist showed no sign of complying.

"What's the big hurry for anyway? If the money isn't there why hurry?"

"Makin' sure nobody can follow us."

"What, you mean Kate?"

"I mean anybody."

Sawyer swerved around yet another car-a truck this time-and several horns blared. The con artist waved his middle finger out the window.

"You're all upset!" Jack shouted, his head spinning from the motion. "You shouldn't be driving!"

"I'm not upset!" Sawyer screamed.

"Sawyer! You just had a gun to your head five minutes ago!"

"I'm used to it!"

Jack shook his head and tried not to pay attention to the other cars around them, sure that they were going to crash into one at any moment.

Somehow they made it to the bank in one piece.

Sawyer got out, and Jack saw his hands shaking as he put his sunglasses on. He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the pavement, then slammed the door and walked inside quickly, not even bothering to say anything to Jack.

The doctor sighed and rested his head in his hands. He was shaking himself. How could they get out of this? If the money wasn't in the bank what then? Sawyer had to get out of the country. He had to go somewhere this guy wasn't going to find him. Of course, if Hawkins was really the nephew to the boss of some crime syndicate he didn't know where the con artist could hide.

A car pulled into the parking lot behind him, tires squealing, and Jack jumped. In the mirror he saw that it was Kate.

Immediately, he jumped out, "Kate! What are you doing here?"

She got out too, and the doctor saw Aaron in the back seat.

"You followed us?"

"It was pretty damn hard." She muttered. Her face was sweating and her eyes were frightened. He took her hand in his.

"What about Aaron?"

"I didn't know what else to do with him…"

"He was driving like an idiot."

"I saw."

"Are you okay?"

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. If the money's not here…even if it _is_ here, there's no guarantee this guy's going to let him off the hook."

"We have to help him."

"I know…I just…don't know how."

For a while, they stood in the parking lot, leaning against Kate's car and watching for any sign that they'd been followed. The sun rose higher and higher. It was going to be a hot day.

After a while, Kate said, "We've got to convince him to leave. We can't let him do this—not unless he's sure that guy won't hurt him."

"I tried. He's so stubborn."

"We've got to try."

Jack just nodded. He heard the worry in her voice and tried not to resent it. "Did he…spend the night with you?"

She looked away wordlessly.

There was nothing to say to that. So, "I'll try to talk him into it. If the money's here maybe I can drop it off and you can take him to the airport."

"What if the money hasn't arrived yet?"

He shrugged.

"I think we should go to my place. If he's got the money. It's closer. We can regroup there, try to make a plan."

He nodded.

Sawyer emerged minutes later, blonde hair blazing in the sunlight and smoking another cigarette. Jack couldn't see his eyes, but his face looked relatively calm, compared to the man who'd been driving his bronco ten minutes ago.

He swaggered over to them, not seeming surprised to see Kate, "It ain't here yet." He announced.

"What?"

"Oh God!"

"What are we going to do now?"

Kate clutched Jack's arm. The reaction seemed almost involuntary.

"Talked ta' one o the tellers, told her it was an emergency. She said it should be in by noon."

"Noon? What time did he say you have to make the drop?"

"Five."

Jack ran a hand over his head. "All right, okay…so, let's head over to Kate's house and-"

"Let's go ta' breakfast." Sawyer interrupted casually, dragging on his cigarette and walking back to the Bronco. "This place right here across the street looks good."

"Sawyer-"

"Ya' ridin' with me or Freckles?"

Jack's stomach tightened at the thought of Sawyer driving, "Kate."

"See ya' there."

Shaking his head, Jack got into the car.

"Hi Jack!" Aaron squealed.

Jack forced a smile and tousled the little boy's hair, "Hey kiddo. Haven't seen you in a while. Been good?"

Aaron nodded.

Kate got in and slammed her door sort of hard. He could see she was angry. "Why's he acting like this? That guy had a gun to his head! He could have died. Why's he acting like it didn't happen?"

"Don't worry about it, Kate." Jack said as soothingly as he could, but he didn't really get it either.

They went across the street to a Mexican restaurant and sat near the back; Jack ordered a breakfast burrito, Kate had an enchilada plate and got a kid's meal for Aaron. Sawyer just ordered a beer, ignoring the waitresses disapproving look, and started drinking it immediately.

Jack watched him.

It was hard to believe that just a few days ago his life had been totally different. He'd been totally drenched in alcoholism and a drug addiction, depressed, suicidal, close to being fired. Kate had refused to even answer his phone calls. He had wanted to die.

Now, even though he wasn't totally clean, he'd been sober for almost a week, and he was too occupied with sorting through Sawyer's issues to even think about killing himself. Kate was pressed into a small booth against him. He could smell her hair. Life was so complicated he couldn't even worry about his suspension.

All because Sawyer had conned some guy and gotten in over his head. How strange that something like that could be what turned Jack's life around.

He drank some water.

Sawyer didn't seem interested in discussing the problem at hand; he talked about everything except Hawkins and Blackburn, not even mentioning the money; but Jack noticed that he wouldn't make eye contact with either him or Kate.

Around eleven-forty, they left the restaurant and went back to the bank.

This time when Sawyer went inside Jack, Kate and Aaron followed, stood in the lobby, talking quietly. Sawyer was gone for about twenty minutes, and when he came back this time he had a briefcase with him.

Kate went forward, "Is that it? Is it all there?"

"Yeah, it's all here."

"Good." Jack muttered. "I think we should go back to Kate's house and figure out what our next move is."

Sawyer didn't answer, but took the money out and put it in the back of Jack's Bronco.

Jack pushed him out of the way when he tried to get in the driver's side, "I'm driving, Sawyer."

"Whatever ya' say, Doc." Sawyer was smoking again; he flicked some ashes and went around to get in.

After they'd been moving a while, Jack took a deep breath, "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"About why you're here, in LA. Did you come here with the intention to con us?"

"Nope."

"Then wh-"

"Look, Doc, I was upset this mornin'. Sorry if ya' read too much inta' what I was sayin'."

Jack gave him a side-long glance, "Why are you riding with me?"

"What'dya' mean?"

"Why are you avoiding Kate?"

"I'm not."

"You know what," Jack pulled up at a red light and watched Kate keep going ahead of them. Good thing he knew the way to her house by heart, "I don't think you're telling us everything."

"Why would ya' think that?" Sawyer said with mock offense.

"You never do."

"That's right, Doc," he snapped, "I never do. I ain't startin' now."

They didn't talk for the rest of the ride.


	8. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

8. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Way up high_

_There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_The skies are blue_

_And the dreams that you dare to dream_

Really do come true

_--Harry Nilson_

Back at her house, Kate called a babysitter for Aaron, explaining that she would be gone for a few hours, then she went into the dining room where Jack and Sawyer were. The briefcase of money was sitting up on the table.

"Did you count it already?"

"Yeah. Counted it at the bank. Now just gotta' drop it off."

"Where?"

"Highline Motel. It's right outside the airport."

Kate bit her lip and watched Sawyer take a swig of beer. "We-" she glanced at Jack for support, "we don't think you should meet that guy."

"An' why's that?" He frowned at her.

"You _know_ why, Sawyer." She said softly. If something happened to him what would she do? There would be no moving past that. Even if he went away and she never saw him again it would be better than knowing he was dead.

At least she would still have Jack's strong arms to fall back on.

"Ya' think I should run? Ya' heard Ike this mornin'. If I try ta' run they're gonna' kill me."

"If they catch you. And maybe not, if they've got the money."

"Sawyer," Jack spoke up, "if I take the money to this motel and you just leave without him realizing do you really think he'll try to find you?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Prob'ly not." Then he scowled down into his beer, "Runnin' ain't my style."

"Let me put it this way," Jack grabbed his arm tightly, "we're not going to let you drop that money off. Okay?"

Sawyer didn't look at him. Not for the first time, Kate thought he looked guilty.

"Kate is going to take you to the airport, and you're going to get on a plane. It doesn't matter where you go, just leave. I'll take the suitcase and drop it off at the motel."

For a long time Kate thought Sawyer wasn't going to answer; finally, he slammed his beer down, wrenched away from Jack, heading out of the room.

"Sawyer-"

"Room 34. That's where he's stayin'."

Sawyer stared out the window at the airport, his mind moving blindingly fast, and yet not getting anywhere.

"Where do you think you'll go?" Kate asked, voice soft.

But he didn't answer her. He couldn't even bear to look at her. There was this weird burning deep inside the case of his chest, like someone was holding a lighter under his heart. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before.

"Do you think you'll make it back to LA any time soon?"

When he still didn't answer, she touched his hand, "Sawyer?"

The contact made him jump, and he looked at her.

"You okay?"

Green eyes. So soft. So sad. He remembered the first time he'd seen those eyes, all the cruel things they'd said and done to each other, all the laughs they'd had, the kisses they'd shared. That was over now. All of it. And it was his own damn fault.

"Let's go." He muttered, getting out of the car. He slung the travel bag securely over his shoulder, holding onto the strap tightly.

Kate locked up and came around to him, obviously misinterpreting the expressions she was seeing on his face, "Hey, don't worry. Jack is taking the money to the motel. That guy isn't going to find you as long as you lay low."

"I ain't scare of him." Sawyer said, and his words were sincere. But he _was_ scared. Scared of something else. Something he could never take back.

She started to say something, but he turned away quickly, worried that she'd see his emotions if he locked eyes with her too long, "Let's go." Sawyer started off at a brisk walk, purposely staying a couple steps ahead of her, and he heard her shoes clicking on the pavement.

Memories of last night came to him in a whirlwind of cloudy sensations: the smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, how smooth and clean her flesh felt under his hands, the way her voice sounded when she said his name. It was painful. But he couldn't shut it out with her right there beside him.

It was raining again, silver, icy droplets cascading in a torrent, as if the world were crying the tears that he couldn't release himself.

They were silent as they both went inside. The air of the terminal was cool, but choked with the scents and sounds of humanity: food frying, cell phones ringing, voices speaking, travel-worn clothes and booze. It was crowded, and he had to elbow his way though. Keeping one hand on his travel bag, he reached back and found Kate's, and her fingers twined around his, almost as if acting on instinct. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, drawing a sharp breath as the memories became even more overpowering.

"Sawyer." He heard her voice murmuring to him, but he couldn't respond. "Sawyer, what's wrong?"

Everything. Everything was wrong.

Then he was standing there, scanning the flight schedule, trying to pick a place, figuring he might as well choose one at random, since it didn't matter. Since all of this was fake. Kate was still holding his hand.

She pressed close against him and glanced around, "Where do you think you'll go?"

Sawyer picked a flight that was leaving soon, "Vancouver."

"That takes off in thirty minutes."

"I can make it."

Kate didn't seem sure.

"What? Don't ya' want me ta' go?"

"Of course not." Her free hand ran over his cheek, and he felt her fingers trembling.

He looked at her, guiltier than ever, suddenly blurted out, "I'm sorry I left, Freckles…three years ago…I just…I'm not made for that."

"I know."

"Besides…with Jack there…ya' didn't really need me."

She gave him a wide-eyed look, "Is _that_ why you left? You couldn't handle his competition?"

"Not exactly. But it didn't help."

Kate sighed and looked to the side, "I guess it doesn't matter now. I mean…I don't want you to go, but I know that you have to."

"I don't want to…" The fire in his chest was hotter than ever; he almost thought he could smell something burning. That made him think of the symptoms of tumors Jack had told him about: phantom smells and whatever. What if this really did kill him?

At least he'd die loving Kate.

He drew her closer and leaned in to her face, "Maybe I don't _have_ to. Maybe I-"

Kate shook her head, misunderstanding again, "You don't know what Hawkins will do to you. For now at least, you've got to leave."

"Right." He nodded. It was better if she didn't understand. "You're right."

Kate tried to smile, but he could see that she was failing, "Well," she sighed, "good bye, Sawyer. Good luck."

"Thanks."

She started to turn away. Maybe she didn't care if he left. Maybe she just couldn't handle the pain. Maybe it was just because it was in her nature to run away. But he couldn't let her walk out like that, not ever knowing… He grabbed onto her jacket sleeve, looking into her rain-damp face, "Freckles," he grinned, because it was good to use that name, it was good to think of her and remember her the way she'd always been for him, "ya' might not see me for a while, ya', know?"

Kate was nodding, but she bit her lower lip, tears shimmering in her green eyes. "Yeah. I know."

There was so much he wanted to tell her. There was so much he wanted to say, to make her understand, to ask her about…and he couldn't. It had to stay hidden. So he tried to push it away, and shrugged, "Take care of Jackass, alright?"

Kate released an audible sniff and wiped at her eyes, "I will."

"'Kay…" He lingered there awkwardly, "Sorry this…didn't really turn out like we wanted."

"It's all right." Her lips trembled. One tear managed to escape from her eye and slid down to her chin.

He wiped it away.

And one last time, just for a moment, he held her tight and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her with all the longing and all the thankfulness and grief and triumph that was fueling that fire under his heart. He felt her clinging to his jacket and shirt, her fingers twisted in his hair, and he wanted to stay there, just like that, forever. Never moving and never changing. Always together, like they should have been in the first place. The way they never would be.

All too soon, he had to pull away.

"I love you." She whispered.

He brushed some hair from her forehead. One last time.

Then they both turned from one another and began to walk their separate ways. Two paths that were no longer intertwined. The moment he left her arms, Sawyer felt a freezing touch of loneliness and emptiness touch him, and he had to force himself to remember why this had to be.

After going a few steps, he suddenly stopped. The man behind him muttered something rude, but he didn't care. He turned around and shouted loudly, "Kate!"

Kate didn't seem to hear him, so he called louder.

"KATE!"

She stopped too and looked back at him over her shoulder, unable to hide the tears that were openly streaming down her face, lips parted, eyes greener than ever.

For just a few seconds, he stood there, mouth open, words tingling on the tip of his tongue, feeling trapped and scared and hopeful all at once. Trapped because he couldn't say what he had to. Scared because she might turn away and keep going without hearing what he had to say. And hopeful. So hopeful that this wasn't all for nothing.

At last he cleared his throat, and by the time he looked in her eyes, her whole body was shaking.

"I love you. That ain't never gonna' go away."

Kate closed her eyes. Tears flowed all the more openly, and she bit back a sob.

The emotions he saw in her face were too much to take on, so Sawyer spun away, and disappeared into the crowd, clenching his fists so tight it hurt, heart tearing apart right down the middle.

The rain was coming down again when Jack pulled up in front of the Highline Motel. Several minutes passed and he didn't get out. He couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn't place what it might be. Maybe he would have felt better if he'd had a gun with him, but that couldn't be helped.

A drink might have soothed the worry as well, but he wasn't going to turn to that. Not right now. Not for a while. Not until he thought he could handle it again. No more oxycodone either.

If there was one thing this escapade had taught him it was that his friends might still need him, island or no island. He had to keep alert and sober. If not for himself, then for their sake.

Finally, he sighed and pushed the car door open, grabbed up the suitcase of money and half-jogged toward the building. Lightning crackled not far away, and Jack shivered. The inclement weather certainly didn't help to ease the uneasy feeling he was getting.

He ran up the steps and glanced at the door nearest to him. It was twenty-five. Sawyer said Hawkins was waiting in thirty-four. That made him nervous, thinking about that weird, old man waiting for him, probably with the Russian man and the black bodyguard as well. But they were expecting Sawyer. Not him. So, they might just take the money and let him go. Or they might be angry and kill him for it.

The unnerving thought deterred him, but it didn't make him stall, and he kept right on walking, straight ahead, counting the doors as he passed. It felt good to be doing this for Sawyer. It was good to be putting his life on the line for someone. Even if the con artist might not appreciate it, he was sure that Kate did. She loved Sawyer. That couldn't be changed. And besides, Jack felt brave and worthy again. He was more than just an alcoholic. More than just a poor, drug-addicted nut case. He was a friend. He was a leader. Those things required sacrifices.

The doors seemed to be going by quickly now. Twenty-six, twenty-seven. He heard a baby screaming. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine. A couple was fighting.

Door thirty came up and suddenly popped open, the corner of it clipping the briefcase just hard enough to knock it out of his hands. The case landed on its side and popped open. Jack gasped. A pair of still-wrapped newspapers tumbled out.

The woman who'd come from the door looked at him, "Sorry." And kept going.

Jack ignored her and stared at the newspapers. With shaking hands, he reached down to pick one up. It didn't make sense. Where was the money? It had been there. He and Sawyer had counted it earlier. Why would it be gone? Who would take it out? Why? Hoping Sawyer would show up without the money so there'd be an excuse to kill him?

Or maybe…

If Jack showed up with the money what would happen to him?

He stared down the way at room number thirty-four. What was waiting in there? His breathing got heavy. Was he going to die if he dared to find out? Alcoholic, oxycodone-addicted Jack wanted to run away and go home, get a drink and go to bed feeling sorry for himself.

But Doctor Jack Shephard, the hero and leader, knew that he couldn't.

Leaving the briefcase and newspaper where they were, he began to march steadily toward the door, counting to five as he went. He couldn't let the fear take hold. He couldn't allow it to make him do stupid things.

Even if this was the end for him, he had to stay brave.

He had to trust Sawyer.

Jack stopped in front of the door, hesitating, fist lingering over the wood.

He had to trust his friend.

The doctor knocked sharply, "Hello?"

No one answered. No matter how many times he knocked or what he said, no one answered. It was clear that the room was empty. The reason why was much more important anyway.

Jack whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed Kate.

When she answered, it was obvious she was crying.

"Kate? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, endeavoring to stop a sob, "I just got done dropping Sawyer off. I'm going home."

Jack tried to stay calm. "So it all went smoothly.

"Yeah."

"Did he tell you where he's going?"

"Um. Vancouver. The flight was supposed to leave in like thirty minutes."

The doctor looked at his watch. "How long ago was that?"

Twenty minutes.

Jack cursed.

"Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine." He began to jog back the way he'd come. "Just-"

"Have you dropped the money off yet?"

"Not yet," he scrambled for his car, "I'm going to wait until his plane is in the air." No point in scaring her.

"All right. Call me when it's over."

"I'll come by and see you tonight."

Silence.

"If that's all right."

"I just…I'd really like to be alone tonight, Jack."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it, "Fair enough. I'll call you later."

"Bye Jack."

He hung up. There was no time to waste. He peeled out of the parking lot, burning rubber, and drove as quickly as he could to the airport. When he arrived, he parked outside. It was a no parking zone, but he didn't care. This was more important. Jack raced inside, checking his watch several times as he made his way through the busy terminal.

Something must have gone wrong somewhere along the way. They'd been lied to by someone: Hawkins or Blackburn. Or maybe Sawyer had set himself up for some reason. Maybe this had all be a hoax. Maybe he wanted to die.

Jack's heart pounded at that thought. He couldn't let that happen; Sawyer had helped him. If he hadn't come along when he did that night on the bridge…

He skidded to a halt in front of the schedule, seeing that the Vancouver flight had been delayed. Most of the flights had.

"Good." He muttered, starting to run again. "Maybe he's still around here somewhere."

The doctor ran through most of the terminal, looking through restaurants, wading through crowds, searching every face for someone he might possibly know.

When he finally saw someone he recognized, his blood went cold.

Hawkins was sitting in a lounge, reading a newspaper. His bodyguards were standing over his shoulder, emotionless. And there was a tattered, blue travel bag at his feet. Jack recognized it all too well.

Barely containing his rage, Jack approached, balling his hands into fists, "Where is he?"

The old man looked up from his paper, not particularly bothered, "Oh. Dr. Shephard. How nice of you to join us this evening?" His cold voice and sophisticated accent made even _that_ sound like a threat.

"Cut the civil act—_where_ is he?"

"Right. Have you come to see him off then? Quite the friend you are. Unfortunately our flight has been delayed."

"I'm not going to play games with you. You'd better tell me right now. Where. Is. He?"

Now Hawkins appeared puzzled. "What? Mr. Ford? He's right over there—in the bar."

Like he'd been shocked, Jack looked up.

Sawyer was just sitting there, in the dimness of a terminal bar, tilting back a bottle of beer. He hadn't noticed Jack yet, but he seemed fine.

"Quite the careless man," Hawkins went back to his paper, "drinking like that."

But Jack wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He couldn't understand why or even how. What had just happened? This didn't add up with any of his theories.

And standing around wondering wasn't getting him anywhere either, so he put one foot in front of the other and walked that way, rage utterly overtaken by confusion.

"Have a nice weekend." Hawkins called after him.

By the time Jack entered the bar, he was angry again. He didn't like being played or taken for a fool. It made him mad that one of his friends would trick him like this, even though he didn't fully comprehend the nature of the trick.

"Sawyer!"

When the con artist looked up it was obvious that he hadn't been expecting to see Jack again. His eyes were wide and his mouth fell open.

"What the hell are you doing, Sawyer?" Jack demanded, before the other man had a chance to answer.

"Hey there, Doc." Sawyer said, obviously regaining composure. He smirked obnoxiously, "Hope ya' ain't here ta' buy me a drink—I ain't gonna' be in town ta' drive ya' home anymore."

Jack got in his face, "What the hell are you doing here, you son of a bitch? You're supposed to be on that plane."

The con artist didn't seem surprised or insulted at all, "Flight got delayed. 'Cause of the rain, I guess."

"And what about _him_? Why isn't _he_ at the motel? You sent me there to meet him!"

"If I remember correctly, ya' volunteered ta' meet him."

"Sawyer! _What_ is he doing _here_?"

The con artist took a slow swig of alcohol, drawled, "Hawkins? He's my new boss."

"New boss?" Jack felt utterly bewildered. "What about the money, Sawyer?"

"It's with him. It's his money, ya' know."

"No, I don't know. What's going on? He's going to kill you. Isn't he? You came here to get away from him."

"He never said he was gonna' kill me, and neither did I. You just jumped ta' that conclusion all by your lonesome." Sawyer hesitated and brushed some hair from his eyes, "But I _did_ come here ta' get away from him."

A thin haze of confusion was spinning thicker and thicker around Jack's head as he looked at Hawkins, and then back at Sawyer. It felt like he'd been tricked-conned-but nothing had been taken from him. He hadn't lost anything. Instead it seemed like he'd gained. Whatever the case, nothing was getting any clearer, so he'd have to find his answers. Frustrated and annoyed, he grabbed Sawyer's arm harshly, "What is this all about? And don't you _dare_ lie to me. Not after all this. After we almost died trying to get to the bank and that asshole had a gun to your head, why are you just sitting here like this?"

Sawyer stared at him for a moment, like he was trying to decide on what to say. At last he sighed, "Siddown, Jack."

Jack didn't move.

The con artist looked at him sharply, "Ya' wanna' hear the story or not?"

"Will it be the truth?" Jack asked quietly.

"Nothin' but."

Reluctantly, Jack released his arm, and Sawyer rubbed it. Then he slid onto the stool next to him.

Sawyer took another swig of beer, then a deep breath, "All started a few months ago: Hawkins really _is_ part of a crime syndicate. That part's true. And I really did work a job with him—_for _him is prob'ly more accurate. It was a big job: eight-hundred grand. But when it was over, guess he decided I was too valuable ta' let get away-connin's a rare talent, he says-so he offers me a position."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "A crime boss offered you a job?"

"Startin' ta' get why I didn't tell ya' right off the bat? Anyway, I said I'd think about it. In the meantime, I've still got half o his money from the job I did."  
"The four hundred?"

"The four hundred. After I'd been thinkin' the position over for a while, he tells me he's sick of waitin'. Says if I want the position, I should hand-deliver the money to him. If I don't I should have someone else bring it or transfer it. Either way, I've gotta' give it back." He hesitated, "See, the thing is, I was in Vegas that whole time, and he was out in Chicago. Sendin' the first four hundred out was tough enough. Guess he thought me flying over ta' Illinois would be a good indication that I was committed."

"Then why didn't you?" Jack demanded, barely fighting back the rise of anger, "Why did you do _this_?"

Sawyer was quiet for a long time. When he spoke his voice was so hushed, Jack assumed he was the only one in the bar that could hear him, "Got scared, Doc. I ain't really a team player-you know that-an' workin' for a crime syndicate's a big deal. Makes a lotta' money, but it's illegal as hell. That never really bothered me before, but…now… I didn't think I could do it.

"So I took half the money, figurin' as long as I had it with me I could always change my mind, and ran. Didn't count on him followin' me, but I guess I shoulda'. It's his money, after all."

"But why here?" Jack demanded. "Why LA? And why now?"

"Seemed like as good a place as any." Sawyer finished off his beer, but he didn't look at Jack. "Anyway, that's the big story. When I had you an' Kate drop off the first two hundred thousand, it meant I didn't want the job. But the fact that it was only half…" he shrugged, "guess somewhere inside I _did_ want the job. And he knew that. That's why he made such a big deal outta' me droppin' the rest myself."

Jack shook his head at him, "You shouldn't do this." He said as firmly as his voice would allow. "Please don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Work for a crime syndicate—I don't think it's a good idea."

"I don't give a fuck what'cha' think, Doc. I'm doin' it for me. Besides, what the hell else should I do? It ain't like I got family. Three years I've been tryin' ta' pick up where I left off. There's just nothin' ta' pick up."

"That guy, I don't trust him." Jack thought about Hawkins' freaky smile and chilling voice, and barely considered a shudder. "I don't think getting into organized crime is a way to start a life, Sawyer."

Sawyer glared so fiercely at Jack that the doctor had to take a step back, "Don't stand there judgin' me, Doc. Don' t act like ya' don't know about all the shit I did for ya'."

"What do you mean? What have _you_ ever done for me?"

"Oh, that's right. I ain't never done a damn thing for ya'. I don't give a shit about ya'. Jesus, Doc, wake the hell up When I ran inta' ya', you were standin' on a bridge about ta' kill yourself."

"Great. You saved my life—what do you want a thank-you? Thanks for saving my life on your way to join an organized crime syndicate."

Sawyer gave him another nasty look, "Fine. How's it feel?"

"How's what feel? Having a criminal for a friend? It's-"

"Bein' _sober_, Jack. How's it feel bein' sober for the first time in a year?"

Jack studied him for a while. "Wait. What are you saying?"

Sawyer didn't answer. He was busy lighting a cigarette.

A light clicked on in Jack's head: the fact that Sawyer had stayed at his house, the fact that he'd poured his alcohol down the drain, the things he'd said, all suddenly had a new meaning. But it was more than that. When Jack looked back on the last year of his life, he realized that he hadn't had very much to live for. He'd been degraded from hero to alcoholic in a matter of a few short years. There'd been nothing to stay sober for, especially after losing Kate. But just in the last week and a half, when he had thought he was helping Sawyer, when he had believed that he could be there for someone else again, it had given him a sense of purpose, driving the alcohol and the drugs and the depression all from his mind. It had renewed his sense of life.

And now to find out Sawyer had been bullshitting most of it…

"You meant to do this." Jack accused softly, but the anger was completely gone. "That's why you stayed at my house, not because you were hiding. That's why you lied about all this. You…"

Sawyer said casually, "I ain't never been good enough, Jack. Not for her. Not for you. I don't deserve any of this."

"What?" Jack furrowed his brow, "I-I don't understand. What do you mean, you're not good enough? For what?"

"Ya' did a lot for me, Jack; both of ya' did. When we were on that stupid island. I never woulda' admitted it, but…it was the little stuff. The glasses, an' the poker game, the fact that ya' wouldn't let me die, even when ya' should have. Nobody's ever done nothin' like that for me before. You were the first. You an' Kate. I figure, if I can repay the both of ya' even a fraction of that, it's worth whatever it costs."

Jack studied him intently, "And what does it cost?"

The con artist didn't answer. Typical. Not giving everything away, as usual.

"But I still don't understand. Some of the things you did don't add up… Today, when you were driving like an idiot, like you_ really _were worried about getting the money-"

"I really was." Sawyer interrupted. "After he sent Ivan after me," he jerked a thumb in Blackburn's direction, "I started thinkin' he might actually try ta' kill me if I didn't give him the money."

"Don't you feel like you're being blackmailed? If he made you feel like he'd kill you unless you got the money, he's sort of forcing you to work for him."

"Maybe."

Jack looked at him. How could he just act like that didn't care? How could he be so apathetic? "You should stay here." The doctor said suddenly. "Just go over and tell him you changed your mind. We're in public—he can't do anything to you. Just stay here and-"

Sawyer laughed a little, "Ah, Doc'O…that's the one thing I _can't_ do."

"Why not?"

"Got my reasons."

"That's it? Sawyer, don't you understand what you're getting into?"

"Helluva lot better than _you_ do."

"You could get arrested—or worse."

"Been arrested before. It's not so bad."

"This is just different." Jack snapped, losing his patience. "This is the stupidest thing you've ever done!"

"Prob'ly not. But…it's temporary anyway. I hate workin' with people."

Jack scoffed, "The way you play people…it's no surprise you can't work with them."

"Ya' mad that I played ya', Doc?" Sawyer looked at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

It took Jack a moment to answer. He didn't like being played more than anyone else did, but being broken free from the alcohol, seeing Kate again, being given that sense that there was something to live for…all of it made the being played part worth it. "No. I…don't think I can repay you for what you did."

"Didn't do nothin'."

"But-"

"I never lied ta' ya', Jack. Not once. I didn't tell ya' ev'rythin', misguided ya' on some things, but I never lied. You bein' sober, you gettin' Kate back, that was all _you_."

The doctor didn't believe that. He didn't think he could have broken out of that cycle without some form of intervention, but he hadn't thought that intervention would come from Sawyer.

He stood up, "I still think you should come back with me."

"Nope. Had enough of LA." Sawyer ground his cigarette out and stood as well, "Now, I gotta' go."

"Chicago."

Sawyer smirked, but Jack thought it looked extremely fake and empty, "What? Ya' gonna' miss me?"

Jack choked on the words, but managed to sputter, "Well…yeah…"

A cast of sadness veiled Sawyer's smirk, "Yeah, well…" he tossed some bills down on the bar, then turned fully to face Jack, put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to him, eyes more serious than Jack had ever seen them, "Take care o Freckles. Promise?"

The bitterness in his voice, and the regret was all so heavy that it seemed palpable, like Jack could reach out and touch that grief. "I promise."

"I love her, man," For a moment Sawyer's eyes were shining, and his face looked more open and more real than it ever had before. Like he would answer any question. "I love her more than anythin' else in this whole, fucked up, goddamn world. But…" He cut off suddenly, lowered his eyes, and then the shield was back. It all happened so quickly, Jack hardly knew what to think. "Anyway," the con artist scoffed, "You'd better be headin' out. I gotta' see if my flight's been rescheduled yet."

He pounded Jack on the back lightly, "Take it easy, Doc."

Jack turned to watch him, go.

"Hey, Sawyer?"

The con artist barely turned his head in acknowledgement.

"Am I…are we…will we ever see you again?"

There was just a second's hesitation, "No."

That single word carried enough heartache to crush three separate worlds.


	9. On My Own

9. On My Own

Without it all

_I'm choking on nothing_

_It's clear in my head_

_I'm screaming for something_

_Knowing nothing is better than knowing it all_

_On my own…_

_--The Used_

Sawyer slipped his sunglasses on, even though it was still overcast. The rain had stopped, and the sun was hidden behind clouds. Soon night would set in. He was on the plane now, getting ready to leave LA. Forever.

He hadn't been able to face Jack as he'd walked away. He hadn't been able to tell the doc to his face that he'd never see him again. It had just been too painful for him individually, and even though he'd always prided himself on being able to act any part, conceal any emotion, he had known that if he turned around, Jack would see the aguish as clear as day. So he'd just walked away, ignoring everything the doctor said after that.

Of course, Jack thought he understood. He thought he got it all now, but he didn't know about all the things Sawyer had done for him and Kate that had gone, so far, unmentioned.

When Sawyer had made the decision to leave Las Vegas and head for LA, it hadn't been because LA was as good a place as any. It hadn't been a coincidence at all that he'd wound up there.

He'd gone looking for Kate.

His unquestionable intentions had been to find her, see if she was with Jack-if she had been he would have taken her from the doctor-tell her that he wanted to start over. That he was sorry for abandoning her like that three years ago. Then he would have sent the money back to Hawkins and started living in LA. He would have gotten a straight job, made an honest pay, even been a father to Aaron. In time, he might have even married Kate, because he loved her that much that he wanted to be with her. Forever. He didn't want Jack or anybody else to be able to take her from him.

Running into Jack on the bridge had changed all of that.

On one hand, he should have been glad Jack was planning to jump. But on the other hand, Jack was his friend. His only friend. His best friend. One look into those tortured, alcohol-clouded eyes and Sawyer had seen his opportunity to make up for all his mistakes and pay Jack back for all the things he'd done for him.

It had been a difficult decision to make, and he probably wouldn't have bothered helping Jack get clean if it hadn't been for Kate.

When he'd gone to see her, it had been for that purpose of picking up where they'd left off, but he had realized when he'd entered that house that the Kate he was seeing now was very different than the Kate he'd known on the island. Not fundamentally different, but different in character. She had a son to raise. An honest life to lead and protect. She needed a good, stable, committed man in her life. Not a criminal.

Sawyer couldn't change. Ever. No matter what he did, deep inside he'd still be Sawyer. James was gone, Sawyer had taken over, and Sawyer was a criminal, a thief, and a heartbreaker. Not fatherly material. He couldn't change, he couldn't be good for Kate or for Aaron, so he had to make a decision.

He had to choose to give it up.

More than that, he had to use what resources he had to give Kate the man she deserved to have. That had been part of the reason he'd put so much effort into helping Jack clean himself up. Because Jack _was_ that man. Good and committed and loving and trustworthy. He could work and pay taxes and provide shelter and food, be a good husband and a good father. He was everything Sawyer wasn't—heads vs. tails. He was what Kate deserved.

It had been hard. It had been _so_ hard letting her go. When he'd spent the night with her, and even when he'd said goodbye to her in the terminal, it had been a monumental struggle not to tell her what he was doing. It had been difficult not to give it up and just take what he wanted. But he had denied his selfishness and put what was in her best interest first.

But it hadn't been just for Kate.

Jack needed her just like she needed him. Evidently the ultimate device of his breaking down had been losing Kate. Sawyer had had his heart bashed around enough that losing a woman didn't matter very much. Normally. So even if losing Kate was a lot like getting his very heart taken out, he knew he could handle it. As long as he knew she was safe and well cared for. Jack, being the more emotional of the two of them, probably would have died. He'd been trying to commit suicide, after all. Nothing would have stopped him.

So Sawyer had purposely put them into positions where they had to be together. He'd led them to believe that he didn't want them to drop off Hawkins money, when in fact, it was exactly what he wanted. They had sat in that car together for an hour while he'd walked up the beach and bought a coffee. God knew what they'd talked about, but whatever it was, it had likely re-strengthened their relationship. He'd purposely talked about Kate around Jack. Purposely made Kate think he was going to hurt Jack. He'd been forcing them on each other's minds the whole time he'd been there, just to remind each other…

That had been a lot like stabbing himself over and over. But it was worth it.

With a sigh, he felt the plane beginning to roll forward, launching and jerking across the runway. He closed his eyes.

He hadn't lied to Kate about hurting someone she loved. He _had_ hurt someone she loved. Very much. Because letting her go, _helping_ Jack get her back, had created a mortal wound on his heart. It was something he could never heal. No one could.

"LA." Hawkins snorted beside him, "Overrated, don't you think, James? I know I won't be coming back here any time soon. And you?"

"No."

He'd never come back to LA. He couldn't stay here if he couldn't have Kate. Living nearby and watching Jack and Kate get closer would only make him hate Jack. He knew that if he did come back-assuming everything worked out like it was supposed to-he'd find Jack and Kate married, probably with their own kid. He'd find that there was no place left for him in the heart of the woman he loved enough to die for. It would only be more pain.

Sawyer smiled to himself.

It was stupid. All of it was ridiculously stupid. His whole life he'd been selfish. What was wrong with being selfish? Why shouldn't he just take whatever the hell he wanted? Why not just push Jack off that bridge?

Because he loved Jack. And he loved Kate. More than he'd ever loved anyone. It was the strangest emotion for him, a man who had never experienced love. He'd never allowed himself to have friends, and he'd never allowed himself to fall in love before. Love and friendship had always been business. But being on the island had been different. No business. No money to be made. Just time. Time enough to get to know another human being-really know them-and let them know him.

So it was the first and only time he'd fallen in love. The first and last time he'd ever let himself get so attached that he would make a sacrifice like this one. _Just once won't hurt._ He had told himself.

And yet it did. It hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt before.

The plane swept up into the sky, and Sawyer stared down at the city as they left it behind, thinking about Jack and Kate, Hurley in the mental hospital, the island they'd all left, how complicated life was now contrasted with how easy it had been then. It made him think Jack was right—it would be better to go back. It would be simpler.

Too bad that was just a false hope.

Sawyer felt a horrific, ragged scream rising up inside him, tears he couldn't release burning the backs of his eyelids as he pictured Kate's face, relived memories of bickering with Jack. So much to lose.

But if they were happy…

What the hell? He'd never been happy before any way. Why kid himself into thinking he could start now?

_You an' Jack are the only friends I've got—in the whole world. I'd be an idiot ta' let somethin' happen ta' either of ya'._

He leaned back in the seat, remembering her gentle voice.

_Sawyer, What's wrong?_

_Ev'rythin'. In a good world, I'd get ta' keep ya'._

A good world? Yeah, right.

_Why do you have to do anything?_

_'Cause I made a choice._

What a choice to make. It would have been less painful to cut off his own arm. This hero shit…it really didn't suit him.

He'd been born to be the black hat. Born to be the criminal. Born to be the con.

Born to be alone.


End file.
